


A Cold Sweat Hot-headed Believer

by emmadune



Series: I Want You To Stay [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: COVID Lockdown, Emotional Constipation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Enemies, Gay Panic, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Starring Armie Hammer, Starring Timothée Chalamet, author is not from the states, im sort of stuck, it's not the first rodeo, so i have no idea how it went down out there back then, so just see without your eyes, this is just some crack fic, you can do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26079730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadune/pseuds/emmadune
Summary: Armie and Timothée were originally friends, or maybe thatʼs a generous term to use when they truthfully only tolerated each other. It was all good between them; Armie thought Timmy was madly talented, Timmy thought Armie was unbelievably hilarious. They were friends, until one night at a party Timothée accidentally impressed a girl that Armie had his eyes on, and they’ve stayed on the border of hostility since.They're happy to ignore each other despite being in the same friend group, until March 2020 came and L.A was put under lockdown. Timmy had nowhere to go but a hotel that would effectively put him to debt, so Nick sent him to Armieʼs doorstep. Whether it's murder or romance remains to be seen.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: I Want You To Stay [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923517
Comments: 120
Kudos: 244





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi so uhm this is like one of those fics that just write itself. It keeps knocking on my head so I'll just get it out.

There’s an existing part of Armie’s brain at the back of his head that is subtly aware of the outbreak somewhere in Europe, which came from China or something. It’s hard to wrap your head around a concept like this when it’s the 21st century and medicine, technology and research have come a long way. Yet, here goes. Armie is sitting on his couch, on a sunny day out in Los Angeles, watching the gradual announcement of lockdowns across the country. He takes another swig of his beer, shaking his head. 

The other crazy thing that Armie is entirely unprepared for but should’ve realized is people raiding the groceries for basic necessities. The panic rubs on him momentarily, but fizzles out after a minute of freezing on the spot. Maybe it’s an unacknowledged nihilism, but Armie doesn’t think it’d really go so bad for him from here. The part where he’ll likely be in isolation for some time until they figure out how to contain this might not be very ideal considering that his house is two-storey with five bedrooms. 

First of all, the maintenance. He makes a mental note to check in on them if they’ll continue their service despite the lockdown. Secondly, he has a bunch of junk food in his pantry, which means he’ll have to live off of it for the time being until the panic buying settles down a bit. That means cereals, frozen meat, frozen fruit, oats, crisps, an alarming amount of liquor. Armie scowls, pinches his belly where he knows he’ll find a pouch of fat, then huffs scornfully. Lastly, what the hell is he supposed to do, all alone, in a house this big? Even with a gym, a pool, a home theater, a bar, none would be even remotely as enjoyable as it would’ve been if he had company.

Armie contemplates calling his parents, then his brother who he thinks might be in the Caymans right now, or Canada or Dallas. Definitely his mother is in Dallas. His father would be the real mystery and not at the same time. He’s definitely out there flying across continents. Armie won’t put it past his father to find another tropical island to isolate in out of the blue. 

Work should also concern him, but it doesn’t, because he’s in investment, also somewhat employed under his father’s company therefore the money is just… there. The class discrepancy really shows, especially now that businesses are being forced to close and people would lose their steady income streams unless they can work from home while doesn't even sweat over it. 

Making up his mind, Armie sends a message to his father, just a standard text to ask him if he’s well in these terribly trying times while he’s probably in a private jet flying over Brazil or something, just because he feels like he’s got to, for the sake of being blood-related. His mother already has verses sent to him, which he just replies sweetly with a thanks and hopes she remains safe. Viktor is fun. He’s supposedly in Canada in a week, right now in Dallas, which means their mother will likely force him to quarantine with her. Nothing wrong with that, in Armie’s opinion, but there just comes a certain point where unless you see your parents twice in three months, you just can’t stand them anymore for long periods of time. Good luck, Viktor. 

Of all the people, it’s Nick who’s ringing him insistently. It’s not weird, everyone’s checking on everyone, even his college group chat is blowing up, but even Armie has other things in mind than the people he got thrashed with every single week until grad school. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Armie answers, putting the phone on loudspeaker. 

“Where are you? L.A?” 

“Yeah, you coming?” 

Nick snorts, and Armie braces himself. “Dude, I wish. I’m at work still, we’re closing by Thursday. Anyway, you got room?” 

“Sure, you need to dump things?” Armie pours himself a glass of water, then walks back to his phone on the kitchen island. 

“Eh, not things,” Nick responds, sounding unsure. “Remember Timmy? That gangly undergrad when we were in Columbia-”

“Oh, you mean the arrogant dick who speaks German and made it his personality?” 

“What? No?” 

“The guy with the curly hair right? Skinny and sings.” 

Nick starts laughing, dumbfounded but amused. “First of all, Timmy is actually a pretty great kid, you two just happen to have really bad impressions of each other. And it’s French, so who the hell are you talking about?” 

Huffing, Armie replies “Well, him. That’s him. What the fuck now?” 

“Could you take him in? Just for the meantime during lockdown. He can’t fly back to New York and will likely be stuck.” 

There’s a stretch of silence that Armie used to gawk at his phone, his hand stopping mid-air as he holds his glass of water. It’s a wild thought to process, considering how they can’t get along to save their lives, except now Nick is asking him to do just that. 

“Hello?” 

“Oh, fuck you!” 

“Armie!” Nick drawls out, whining. “Come on, itʼs a life and death situation!” 

Armie blinks in utter shock, but also magnificently irked by this morally compromising favor. “I get it, I really do. I’m the friend with the big house to himself, but like, putting that kid in here with me? Oh my God, we’re going to murder each other and no one will be able to investigate my death because there’s a pandemic and I could’ve just died from the virus.” 

“You’re being overdramatic. You two won’t even cross each other in a house that big. And besides, he’s down to pitch in his share of everything.” 

“Then why can’t he get a lease?”

“Because he literally doesn’t live in L.A. He’s just here for work and now he’ll get inevitably stuck or be unemployed for the rest of the lockdown.” There’s laughter in Nick’s tone as he speaks, which only fuels Armie to be inexplicably irritated. “Look, it’s not going to take long. Probably just a couple of weeks. Once he can fly, he’d be out of your hair. I mean, you’ve met the guy. He invented shyness.” 

“Shy?” Armie asks out of immense disbelief. “Shy? Him? Nick, once, we saw each other again in Jess’ party and he dragged me literally just because I want to dress casually for one fucking day of my life.” 

“Jesus Christ, you’re the one who started running your mouth about his degree being a sham. You acted like an arrogant business major to an art student, and by the way you wore an Adidas tracksuit so give him a break.”

Well, true, and he’s pretty sure the guy was in music. Anyway... “Well there you have the prime example of why this is going to end in murder.” 

Nick sighs, exasperated. “Nobody’s going to die. You’ll literally offer him a roof over his head. Do you seriously believe he’d try anything?” 

“That’s the mindset of every murder victim.”

They pause again. Armie knows in his gut that Nick is glaring at his phone the same way that he is doing it right now in his kitchen. Finally, Nick takes a long, deep breath, then calmly tries again. 

“Look, I just worry, because he’s also my friend-” 

“He’s like two years younger than us.” 

“So he can just be out on the streets during a _pandemic_ because he’s not a minor?” Nick snaps. “Also, four years. He just finished his degree in three years that’s why he’s a senior when we met him in grad school.” 

Deep down, Armie knows no matter their history, he shouldn’t slam his door to someone who’s obviously in need. It’s especially clear to him coming from his awareness of his privilege. Yet at the same time, of all the ways he could be making use of what he has, it’s this. Helping the guy who makes him feel small just because he’s just naturally brilliant and talented and a darling of the crowd. Armie is _not_ bitter about that. He knows he can't get more poster boy than he already is. What really gets to him about Timmy is his attitude. Like he’s just _better,_ for whatever reason. And what drives Armie crazy is that he’s the only one that the kid acts like that to, and so no one in their friend group actually sees the devil that he sees. It’s frustrating. 

“I sent him to your address already. He should be there in a bit.” Nick says after a while, probably sensing his surrender. 

Armie sighs. He’s already at the point of acceptance. “You can’t blame me for what’ll happen from here onwards.” 

“It’ll be fine. He’s not as bad as you think. In fact, he’s not bad at all.” 

They hang up after a couple more banters, but they’re considerably weaker than what they usually put each other under. Armie is not one to hold things like this against his friends, even if the proposition itself sucks. Also, Timmy isn’t winning his favorite person award anytime soon, but Nick makes a very good point that the kid can’t be left on the streets on his own. It’s not even likely to happen, though Armie understands that Nick is just looking after Timmy and wants him to at least spend the lockdown with someone trusted in a safe place. So all in all, Armie really gets it. He just doesn’t like it at all. He can live with this, though. Besides, Nick is right. Even with two people the house is still pretty massive. They’ll manage to avoid each other to save their lives. 

The day rolls on, and Armie constantly thinks and maybe rehearses how he’ll take in Timmy when he rings on his doorstep. Definitely, he shouldn’t gloat, but it’s tempting. It’s fun to think about it, he won’t deny that. To be fair, he’s not even this petty generally. Contrary to popular initial impressions, Armie is more of the forget-about-it type of guy. If it pisses him off, he’ll be happy to just put it away from his consciousness so he’s never bothered by it anymore. Timmy, however, just strikes a very particular nerve in him that no one has ever touched before in his life. 

Armie can hardly recall the details of their first meeting. They weren’t introduced, as far as he knows, but rather bumped into each other periodically over their graduating year in Columbia; Armie from his grad school, Timmy from undergrad. It was like a gradual process of getting integrated into each other’s social circle, which he can’t explain until now, given that he was a business major and Timmy was in music. Armie knew that for a fact. It was exactly why he was so hard to miss. On more than one occasion, Armie has watched Timmy play an instrument or sing, sometimes both, and it was extremely impressive because he is maddeningly talented. 

Just as Armie can’t recall their first meeting, he also can’t recall where things went downhill. They were okay. Casual acquaintances, if you may. They’d sat on the same table before and it went just fine. It wasn’t even memorable, but they definitely talked, and Armie can confidently say it wasn’t all hellfire. What he can recall though was at the graduation party where Timmy just turned to him and decided to be antagonistic out of nowhere. Or maybe not out of nowhere. Now, that was usually where Armie’s forget-about-it attitude would come into play, which he did apply initially, but somehow the times they’ve bumped into each other following that brought nothing to the table but chaos. They snap and jab at each other at every opportunity they get, sometimes it was even pretty heated.

As if that alone wasn’t enough, Timmy is actually very well liked by every mutual friend they have. As a matter of fact, Armie is known to be the only one who has a bad opinion of the guy, which doesn’t look very well on him. At the end of the day, people just assume that he’s the problem, because who would suspect the nervous, adorable, talented Timothée Chalamet? No one. It effectively drives Armie nuts. For once, he’s actually the one who isn’t problematic, and nobody believes him. 

So yeah, he doesn’t really have a good opinion of the kid. Sue him. 

Still, Nick is unpleasantly correct. His house is big enough for them to successfully avoid prolonged interaction, so he goes to the pool table, then begins to play. 

Armie doesn’t want to say it’s anticipation, but the way his game is off in his solo pool is really calling him out. There’s nobody around for him to save face, which is why he doesn’t. Tossing the cue on the table, Armie pulls his shirt off his head and walks straight to his gym. He blasts music on the speakers and attempts to get his routine started, which he succeeds up until he’s running on the treadmill and his mind is pretty idle. It’s two hours since Nick called, and still nothing. Armie has his phone on him, so he would expect to get notified if there’s a change in plan. 

The guest rooms are pretty much always ready. Armie can give him the one on the ground floor but he sort of uses that to nap when he feels too lazy to go to his own room. To be fair, there’s another one, but he’d really rather take his chances on Timmy probably keeping to himself upstairs than walking into him because the guy decides to go out of his room for literally anything. 

Wow, he’s really thinking this through. 

It’s after lifting weights that Armie gives up. It’s getting late in the afternoon, and he still has nothing. To be sure, Armie decides to check his security. Timmy could’ve dropped by at some point and he missed it. That definitely won’t reflect very well on him, and he’ll be willing to apologize sincerely for that if it happens to be the case. Except that it’s not. 

At around one, Timmy got out of a cab and looked around, bags in hand, then found Armie’s gate. He stood there for solid minutes, contemplating and likely also gathering his courage to ring the bell. There’s a couple of attempts where Timmy actually lifted his hand, but dropped it at the last minute. He took his phone out, texting furiously, then getting on the phone to talk. He paced around for a few more minutes, then turned back to his gate. Armie thinks that’d be it, and he actually starts feeling bad that the guy had to summon this much courage to show up at his doorstep and it seems like he didn’t hear it, but then Timmy didn’t press the button. Instead, he messed his hair up out of frustration, snatched his bags on the ground, then called himself an Uber. When Timmy mounted the car and it drove away, Armie scoffed. 

“Fine, that’s your fucking call.” 

There it goes again. Armie is not new with rejection and everything along that line, but Timmy just gets him especially riled up every single time. There’s a global pandemic. It’s a virus that you can get very easily because it’s a virus that gets passed around because that’s how viruses work. Something like that. And Timmy right here would decide that no, he’d rather asphyxiate to death or something than ask Armie for help. Alright. That’s his call. 

Armie proceeds with his day as he would usually do, except now he’s massively peeved. He grabs a bag of crisps and tries to watch a movie, lasting only up to the first twenty minutes and constantly scrolling on his phone during that time as well. He gives it up when he realizes that the plot is picking up and he follows none of it, so he gets up from the couch and gets himself another drink. And then he smokes. And then he jumps into the pool and does lapses until he’s exhausted and ends up floating across as he watches the sky slowly get brighter tones of orange at the hint of the start of sunset. Finally, he swims back to the edge and pulls himself out of the water, walking to the lounge chair where he tossed his phone. 

_From: Nick_

_How’s everything going?_

Armie types and retypes his response, then settles to brushing it off because he’s definitely feeling defensive for being this affected over a kid who chose the streets over his house. 

_To: Nick_

_He didn’t ring so I didn’t know he arrived. He stood outside then left._

_To: Nick_

_I just saw him when I checked my footage._

Armie wipes his face with a towel, then slings it over his shoulder as he walks back inside. 

_From: Nick_

_What?_

_From: Nick_

_Hold on. I’d call him._

That’s right, captive audience. Armie isn’t actually the problem. Sometimes, it’s the musician everyone adores that creates drama. 

It’s only when Armie is up in his room in the wardrobe and picking out clothes to change into that his phone rings again. A call from Nick. 

“I told you, I’m not the problem.” Armie says into the line right away, pressing the phone to his ear with his shoulder. 

“You’re one half of it - no, shut up. Listen,” Nick snaps when Armie makes the slightest sound of protest. “I know, okay? But just think about his side. Timmy’s still just a kid. He’s twenty-three. What the fuck did we all know at that age?” 

Point. But Timmy still actively chose to turn away when he’s literally right at his doorstep. “What the hell do you want me to do? Find him?” 

“He’s down at Trader Joe’s.”

“You’re not serious.” 

“Dead serious.” Nick replies without missing a beat. “He doesn’t have a plan either. I know because I asked. So _please,_ just go get him. He’s terrified of you.” 

“Because he treated me so terribly in the two something years we’ve known each other and now I’m the only one available to help him? I bet.” 

“Quit being a dickbag.” 

“Nick,” Armie scoffs, but he’s putting a new pair of sweatpants on anyway. “Wrong dude. I swear to God, if only you’d listen to me for _once_ that it’s not me-” 

“Then be the bigger fucking person like you always were.” 

“There’s a psychological fuckery behind what you just did there but I can’t remember what.” 

“Empathy,” 

“Fuck off.” 

Armie is incredibly unhappy about this development, but he still goes on his way to get the keys and drive to the grocery store where Nick said the guy is. He also received his contact information, and everything just needs to go right at this point because Armie has a naturally short fuse. He saves it anyway, intending to put his name in but realizes he doesn’t remember how it’s spelled, only that it’s spelled differently. 

The drive isn’t long, but it’s pretty crazy out right now. He thinks Timmy won’t be hard to spot in a crowd, given that he has a massive backpack and a duffel, but then he pulls up and sees the mob of people, which is very much what shouldn’t be happening. 

_To: T_

_It’s Armie. I’m at the parking lot. Come out._

While he waits for a response, he looks for some infographics so he gets an understanding of the situation. Apparently, those with travel history should quarantine for two weeks, everyone should wear masks, keep a distance from other people, basically your usual sci-fi dystopian circus except there’s no spectacle and it’s extremely lame so the only persuasion people can get to act responsibly is the knowledge that people are dying. 

_From: T_

_It’s alright, honestly. I’ll find a place._

Armie scowls at his screen. It’s polite, at least, but somehow that’s still irritating. He’s already at the location that Nick told him to go to, and this guy is telling him off. Granted, he’s not entitled to anything because it’s his own free will that brought him there, but Timmy could definitely cut him some slack from here. 

_To: T_

_Don’t make me come in there._

_To: T_

_I swear I’d do it. Nick has threatened my life._

The engine is already off and Armie’s one movement away from hopping out of his car. He’d only admit it when no one’s around, but God it’s satisfying to oppose the guy. It’s his fragile ego, he knows it for sure, but it’s just _there._ The very idea of Timmy just makes him feel like he’s lacking supremely on important things. The arrogant prick.

_From: T_

_Please, if it took a death threat for you to lend a hand, forget it._

Armie pushes out of his car so fast. Fuming, he stalks right into the grocery, the crowd miraculously parting to let him through as he uses his impressive height to look over everyone’s head to find that curly mop of hair that belongs to a guy who likes to breakdance on his very last nerve. The problem is that the grocery is massive, and it’s L.A. You can throw pebbles in the street and hit at least three lanky, curly-haired people. Armie sighs, pulls his phone out and keeps on walking as he texts. 

_To: T_

_I’m already inside you better show your ass._

Since he’s already there and Timmy isn’t making it easy for him, he might as well grab a trolley and start his own shopping. There’s quite a number, but it doesn’t seem like half of the city is out here. Still, the shelves are quickly clearing out, but Armie isn’t really very picky, so he just drops some more chips into his cart, some drinks. He sees juice and candies so he gets some, too. 

_From: T_

_Have you thought about this?_

Armie stares at the message. Has he? Guess what, this very idea has been living in his mind rent free the entire day. So has he thought about this? Who the fuck knows. 

_From: T_

_I’d pay for my stay. I was just unwilling to take a lease because I’d be off the moment it’s clear to travel back._

He knows that already. Armie sighs, his annoyance rising even hotter. 

_To: T_

_I know. So where the fuck are you?_

Armie blows out a huff of air, frustrated, then sees crackers so he adds that to his cart. Just in time, he looks over and recognizes Timmy in front of the nearly empty produce aisle, chewing on his lips and shifting nervously on his feet, phone in hand. Armie simmers down a bit, feeling bad for the kid when he sees his anxious fidgeting, then pushes his cart forward. 

“Hey!” He shouts, catching half of the crowd’s attention. 

Timmy’s body language is pretty easy to read. He freezes, then snaps into a flustered turning and spinning, tugging at the hem of his shirt. It’s clear that he recognizes Armie’s voice, which is great. If he still sprints at this point it’s his damn fault. 

“You could’ve just rang the bell earlier today.” Armie says, stopping at his side and examining a bag of onions as if he’d actually make use of them. 

Timmy recovers pretty easily, but he’s still fiddling with his shirt. “You didn’t _actually_ come here out of the goodness of your own heart. You just felt morally compromised to turn Nick down.” 

“That’s true but don’t say it.” 

“Do you need onions? You don’t even cook.” 

“Well, I do now.” Armie looks at Timmy dead in the eyes and tosses the 500g onion bag into his cart. “And you don’t know that.” 

“Your cart is literally junk food and some crackers.” Timmy points out, unimpressed. 

Armie looks over to Timmy’s basket and finds bags and bags of fruits, then popcorn kernels. “That’s it? You’re one to talk.” 

Timmy only glances at him from the corner of his eyes, glaring. 

“You’re really out here eating like a chicken.”

Timmy huffs, throwing his free hand in the air then walks towards some bananas. “Look, I appreciate you doing this. Thank you, really.” 

“But?” Armie supplies, leaning forward on the pushcart as they stop. 

“But I feel bad.”

“As you should. You treat me awfully.” 

Timmy looks at him, gravely offended and holding bananas. “Me? I’m awful to _you?_ Excuse me, but are you sure?” 

“Yes, a hundred percent. Remember at Jess’ party when you couldn’t shut up about my choice of a beautiful tracksuit?” 

“There was a dress code! But have you forgotten in Columbia your fraternity just thought to tear down the poster for the conservatory because parties are more important, obviously?” 

“What those fuckers do shouldn’t be attributed to me-”

“You were the president!” 

“-and we’re not a fraternity. Get your facts straight.” 

Timmy looks so infuriated with him that his skin is patching with red flushes everywhere. Armie holds his ground, standing straight and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I’m going to rupture an artery and it’s just ten minutes.” Timmy turns away and puts the bananas in his basket, then strides towards the freezers. 

“How the hell do you think I feel-” 

“Well, if it’s such a bother just go on your way and pay for your bag of onions and three thousand junk food.” 

Armie stares the kid up and down, thinking how easy it would be for him to just sling him over his shoulder, backpack on, and walk out the store like that. He’s gutsy, but that doesn’t really add much mass. 

“Don’t even think of touching me. I’ll pretend to be a minor, I swear to God.” Timmy waves his finger right at the center of his vision. 

Jaw dropping, Armie glares intensely, shaking his head. “I’m offering you housing and you threaten me with jail? Who raised you?”

“I am _compromising._ I told you, I’d pay for my stay. What’s your monthly?” 

“It’s two-storey, five bed, six bath, with a pool, a bar and a home theater.” 

“Oh, hell no. You’d bankrupt my bloodline down to my grandson.” Timmy spins away so fast, and Armie can’t hold back his laugh even if he tries. 

“Look, just get your stuff. I live alone. It’s fine. I’d still be paying the same anyway and it’s a pandemic. I’d want to earn my brownie points for the heaven tally in case I don’t make it.” 

Timmy stops and shuts his eyes, laughing like he’s taken aback and is unsure of how to react. “You’re fucking bonkers.” 

It seems to be the closest thing they’d get to a truce, so they just keep their mouth shut the entire time as Timmy loads his basket with even more fruits, this time frozen, then since they’re a little lucky they even got some yogurt and milk. Armie just drops some frozen meat into his and they line up to pay. 

_To: Nick_

_He’s with me now._

_From: Nick_

_Pics or it didn't happen_

"Hey, look here." Armie holds his phone up to Timmy's face, who immediately catches on his intention and pulls out his sunglasses. "What the fuck? It's evening."

"If God doesn't allow it he'd strike me with a lightning." Timmy stands straight and holds his wrist with his other hand.

Armie rolls his eyes. "Why the fuck are you standing like that?" He asks as he types his message.

"It'll be photo evidence just in case."

"You son of a bitch."

The message has been sent already.

_To: Nick_

_Here fucker_

__

_To: Nick_

_Jesus Christ but he's a fucking asshole_


	2. Chapter 2

“You can’t claim to be in complete isolation when your crumbs on the coffee table sustains an ecosystem of bugs.” 

“Shut your damn mouth.” 

To nobody’s surprise, they bickered all the way back to Armie’s house. It started with his choice of music. Thereʼs no reason for Timmy to look absolutely floored that Celine Dion came belting the moment it turned on. Sometimes, people just feel the need for a good old ballad, no need to judge. Technically, Timmy didnʼt say a thing, but the guy was insanely expressive. Armie bets he wouldnʼt manage a pokerface to save his life. Thereʼs hardly any reason to feel defensive about it, but it still dragged on anyway. 

The grocery bags were another matter entirely. It's one thing that Timmy has a massive backpack and a duffel, but he also got so much fruit and bags of popcorn that they couldnʼt possibly do it in one trip. Armie was totally resentful over that. It was a personal peeve of his to have to go back and forth to fetch the bags, and that was exactly what happened. 

When they parked, Timmy probably felt he had to point out the clutter or else heʼd die. There were scraps lying around, with questionable state of being salvageable, which Armie even recognized, but he knew better than to toss them all out when he could need them some time soon. 

“You could mutate a whole new breed of posh rats with the state youʼre keeping this in.” Timmy remarks offhandedly, unbothered by Armieʼs snapping as he sets down his duffel behind the couch. 

Armie rolls his eyes, walking past him and straight towards his kitchen. “Okay, mister environmentalist.”

“It’s ecology.” Timmy corrects him, still busy with his bags while Armie is on the verge of losing his shit. 

It’s _that._ That fucking attitude. Armie is not new to being corrected. He can be pretty dim sometimes. But when it’s Timmy who does it, it just feels like a violation of his human rights.

“I'm serious though, about paying for my stay. Obviously, I can’t-” 

“I said forget it.” 

Timmy flinches, startling when his phone slips out of his hand, then the bag of oranges following it and rolling on the floor. 

Instantly, Armie feels bad, and also what the fuck? Who hurt this kid? “I mean, you don’t have to. Nick literally sent you my way so you don’t run yourself dry. And, like I said, heaven brownie points.” 

Timmy nods, then crouches on the floor to pick up his fruits and his phone. Armie almost moves to help him, but hesitates at the very last moment and retracts his hand. Somehow, the guy looks even smaller, and it twists Armie’s guts despite them not getting along very well. Clearing his throat, he shoves his phone in his pocket and wordlessly goes to fetch the rest of the bags to put away in the pantry. Timmy follows his lead, leaving his bags on the living room floor as they arrange the food on the shelves. 

It doesn’t buy them much time, but at least they get ample space. Armie can’t stop overthinking the little reaction, knowing from Nick that Timmy is quite terrified of him. Though that sort of makes sense at the moment, it’s still not a response Armie wants to achieve. He’s actually not that big of an asshole, and Timmy does have a generally nervous disposition. If they’ll be stuck together, they can either be more agreeable to each other or keep as much distance between them as possible.

“Come on, I’ll show you to your room.” Armie says, picking up the massive duffel on the floor and walking to the hallway on the ground floor. The other two upstairs usually go to his parents and brother, and though they don’t leave personal belongings there, Armie still feels extremely conscious of the link and doesn’t want a chance of it getting pried. 

.

Timmy stops right on the doorway, looking around as Armie enters and tosses his bag on the bed, turning on the light as he goes. “This is your guest room?”

Humming his confirmation, Armie checks the light by the bedside and finds it still functional, then opens the en suite and checks the lights and the water before emerging back to the bedroom where Timmy is gingerly gawking around. 

“Why would you live alone in a house this big?” Timmy asks absently, putting the backpack down on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. 

Armie stops, blinking as he processes the question with the linen drawer open in front of him as he’s still in the middle of checking everything. “It’s given by my dad.” 

For once, Timmy doesn’t throw in a quip. He nods and shrugs, then opens his bag to take his clothes out. 

“Shout if you need anything.” 

“Can’t I text?” 

Armie snorts. “Yeah, that too.” 

For the rest of the evening, Armie tries to keep up with the news over this pandemic. He reads the articles and the news that floods his screen, chatting with his mother and brother in between, who are currently in the middle of negotiating their living conditions. Viktor is happy to stay in his small apartment, but naturally their mother would want to stick together. He’s not completely against it, and he even considers that it might be good to keep their mother company, he just doesn’t want to be the one to do it. Right off the bat, their mother has dug first into the fearmongering pages, then to the conservatives, and then to the religious. It’s a lot, and Armie is already getting a blast of notifications of all the stages that his mother has gone through on that day. His father, on the other hand, sent him a document, which lists the amount of responsibilities that he owes to the company. Armie momentarily shifts to his own business, then finds it still in the middle of a shock as they expect the economy to crash from this point. There’s already a schedule for the meeting tomorrow, starting from nine in the morning, then another one right after lunch. It’s still under negotiation, but they’re insisting on a physical meeting one evening in the conference hall. Armie shakes his head, already getting a rough estimate of the exhaustion that he’ll get from work. 

It’s way past dinner time when Armie feels his stomach grumble. At first, he goes on with his routine as usual, then jumps a little when he sees the basket on his kitchen island filled with fruits, realizing only then that he momentarily forgot about his guest. Not to be a terrible host, but Timmy is an adult, and he bought these with his own money. He’ll come to eat if he wants. So Armie makes himself a sandwich with whatever he has, then tries to be happy with that as he returns on his spot on the couch, grabbing a beer on his way. 

The following morning is as crazy as Armie expected. He hasn’t even showered when he’s already answering messages and calls, then barely made it to the Zoom meeting, unshaven and hair still dripping. Fucking Nick is breathing down his neck, too. He’s definitely a little cranky when he comes down to finally eat and drink, and if there’s one good time in the day when Timmy wouldn’t show his smartass face, it would be now. Thankfully, it’s a morning without murder, as Armie gets to brew his coffee and make himself a serving of breakfast without even a hint of the kid anywhere. 

Idly, Armie wonders if he’s the kind who stays in bed until noon, then he pretends to slowly walk past the bedroom door in the hallway from the kitchen leading to the living room, then hears faint music on the other side. Working, probably, which reminds him of his own, so he retrieves his laptop that’s questionably left at the bar, then since it seems like a good idea, picks things up right there. It’s one of the joys of living alone. If he wants to work literally with his stash in the background, then no one will tell him off. 

“Hey, do you mind if I use your treadmill?” Timmy pops up from the corner wall, making Armie jump. 

He gives him the up and down, a little confused over the desire to work out when he’s skin and bones. “Sure?” 

“Do you have something to add?” 

“Are you losing weight?” 

Timmy rolls his eyes. “No, but I’m antsy and I usually run in the morning.” 

“It’s nearly lunch,” Armie points out, peeking at his laptop screen. 

“I didn’t want to go in without asking, and I don’t think they allow going out right now.” Timmy replies as he looks over the window where he only sees the yard. 

“Well, go on. I don’t mind.” 

“Okay, thanks.” 

The weirdness lingers long after Timmy has turned away to go about his day. Armie can’t quite shake off the first agreeable conversation they’ve had in years, and it just feels so off brand that it doesn’t sit well with his guts, as if his instincts are telling him to brace himself because it’s going to be a storm from here. Maybe. He’s not even dismissing that possibility, knowing the two of them. God, that guy is unsettling. 

Yet still, the day goes on without them clashing. It shouldn’t be surprising, considering the size of the house and the amount of things that they can do on their own, but Armie has lived a life in the east coast where for whatever twisted ideas of fate, they still wound up in the same social events and somehow blow up at each other every single time. That’s not to say that they’re never in the same area of the house. Late in the afternoon, Armie decides to swim and he sees Timmy come out to the living room, then picks up the trash that he left and takes them all to the bin. It’s a little curious, the way he moves, evidently detached from his surroundings but impulsively cleaning the clutter he finds on his way. 

The next time Armie finds him, he’s folded on a chair, eating two oranges and a bunch of grapes. They acknowledge each other with a glance, Armie even daring with a nod, but it doesn’t get any further than that. 

“Do you really only eat these?” Armie holds up the orange peels. 

“I also eat grapes.” Timmy replies instantly, popping one in his mouth to prove his point. 

Grimacing, Armie throws him a disapproving look then waves to his counter. “Get some bread, there are cold cuts in the fridge. Butter. Jam too, I think.” 

“Sure.”

“I’m serious. You work out and eat like this. I’m not taking you to the hospital.” 

“Do you have a kid?” 

Of all the things that this discussion could be steered to… “ Do I what?” 

Timmy shrugs, collecting the orange peels once he finishes them. “A kid. A child.” 

“I’m not down for this punchline. Goodbye,” 

“You know, they say the mother hen of the group makes the worst mother in reality.” 

Armie turns, just to give an outraged glance at the guy, but he’s already fixed on his phone, eating his stupid fucking grapes. 

When Armie goes to bed that night, he contemplates if he’s the mother hen of the group. After much deliberation, he comes to the conclusion that he definitely is, given that he cajoles everyone to hangout, books their trips, arranges their meet-ups, finds new destinations… Then he thinks of himself as a father, and the thought makes him shudder. He’s too much of an immature idiot for that. 

Fuck that kid. 

What Armie learns about Timmy in the short span of the first few days that they’re locked in the house together is that he’s surprisingly athletic. If he’s not running around the lawn, he’s swimming lapses. Once, Armie sees a soccer ball that he’s not even sure belongs to him being kicked around by the guy, which he seems to be very familiar with, considering the amount of tricks he manages to pull off. It all makes sense, why he’s as skinny as he is, plus he has the same diet as poultry animals. Maybe it’s his personal preference to look that way, and it’s definitely none of his business, so he should keep to himself and get back to work. 

Nick literally babies Timmy; another fact that he learned. He checks on the guy at least twice a day, and it’s so telling of his trust on Armie. They’re not the perfect roommates. Armie and Timmy have to ignore each other so they don’t fight. With that in mind, he feels like he deserves some credit because his expectations of this arrangement were terribly low. Ashton, on the other hand, doesn’t really have any relation to Timmy, so Armie chose him to vent out to, but once he saw what Timmy looked like, he stopped taking Armie seriously, because apparently, it doesn’t take for anyone to physically meet Timmy for them to assume he’s not half the menace that he is. 

“Where are you going?” Armie asks, sitting up from the couch in alarm as Timmy comes into view 

“Oh, just wherever. I need to take pictures.”

“Of yourself?” 

“No, of you. Congratulations,” 

No one can blame Armie for pelting the guy with a cashew. 

“Ow! What the fuck! What if I have a nut allergy?” Timmy whines, rubbing the spot on his cheekbone where it hit. 

“Do you?” Armie prompts, unamused. 

“No,” Timmy responds with a snort, earning him another. “Ow! Quit it - no, don’t! Or at least don’t aim at my face - ow! Take a fucking joke, man.” 

“Get the hell out of my face.” 

“Geez, is midlife really that bad?” 

Out of self-preservation, Timmy is already walking away from Armie, but God knows how much he wants to choke-hold the guy and slam them on the ground. Which is bad, considering their size difference, but has anyone met the guy? He’s madly annoying. Armie knows his blood pressure is spiking all this time that they’ve been around each other. 

_From: Nick_

_Send me the perfunctory pic of the guy well and alive_

Armie wants to scream. 

_To: Nick_

_Make me fucking read the word perfunctory one more time_

_From: Nick_

_Oh wow_

_From: Nick_

_You ok?_

Armie throws his head back, closing his eyes. He barely suppresses his scream.

_To: Nick_

_You sent me the fucking devil_

_From: Nick_

_You’re making this harder than it is._

_From: Nick_

_Now send a picture of our favorite devil. You don’t sound good._

Armie jumps over his couch, walking to the path where Timmy disappeared into and following him to the stretch of white wall where the pool table is. 

“Look alive, or else Nick will send the authorities my way.” Armie doesn’t really give him time to pose, snapping the picture while Timmy is in the middle of fiddling with his oversized sweater, but looking at the camera. 

“Oh, thatʼs because I said you’re on the verge of snapping my neck.” Timmy answers, approaching his tripod and setting up his light. 

Armie turns to face him, offended. “Whose fault is that?” 

Timmy shrugs, as if he doesn’t know. 

From this point, Armie can definitely make this into a proper fight. He takes a deep breath, deciding against it, then goes back to his phone to send Nick the picture he obliges Armie to take nearly everyday. 

_To: Nick_

_Please I swear to God I’d rather catch the virus than this_

_  
_

The attachment isn’t fully delivered when Armie stops and stares at it. No wonder nobody believes him when he says Timmy is a spawn of hell. He’s insanely photogenic, especially since Armie just shoves a camera to his face whenever his friends want proof of his continued existence in Armie’s house. 

“Are you modeling?” Armie asks, though clearly it’s none of his business. 

“No, it’s for my OnlyFans.” 

The answer triggers Armie’s fight or flight response. 

Timmy crouches down on the floor, breaking out into a fit of laughter. “Your face!” 

“You dick,” Armie rolls his eyes, sighing exasperatedly. 

“Trying the modeling,” Timmy answers, this time cordially, wiping at his face and standing back up. “It’s why I need to stay. Just in case I get this or that or anything for that matter.” 

“Are you trying to make it in L.A? Is that what’s going on here?” 

“When you say it like that it sounds like a joke, but yes. I’m a music major, actually-” 

“Yeah, I remember.” 

Timmy stops, blinks in confusion, then looks up at Armie. “You do?” 

For some reasons, Armie feels flustered over that. “Yeah? I’ve watched you before, in events.” 

“Oh, right.” Timmy moves away, still adjusting his light. “So, uh, yeah. I was supposed to land gigs, but this pandemic just struck and everything closed. My mom used to be on Broadway, and she’s the one who encouraged - well, not encouraged, but you get it - to try my luck out here, whatever that means. I don’t know - shit, sorry, you don’t care, I know. I just ramble.” 

Armie actually listens fully focused until Timmy becomes conscious of himself, then he clears his throat and feels weird about it as well. “No judgment here. A hustle is a hustle,”

“Even my OnlyFans?”

“Dude, just don’t shoot somewhere that’ll give away my house.” 

Timmy laughs, shaking his head. “I’d remember that,” he says. “What would you have done? If you weren’t in business?” He asks earnestly, leaning with his palms on top of each other on the tripod. 

It seems fair to ask back, but Armie wouldn’t have counted on him to know. “You know?” 

Timmy huffs, but there’s a hint of a flush creeping up to his cheeks. “Your bunch is literally the loudest.” 

Well, true. “I’d own a farm.” Armie says resolutely. 

Timmy looks at him carefully, studying his form and nodding to himself. “Yeah, I see where you’re coming from. Off the grid?” 

“For sure. I’d eat potatoes all year round, probably.” Armie responds, watching Timmy take a few test shots then walking back to his tripod. “What’s this brand? A twink?” 

Certain things, Armie only realizes to be a bad idea until he hears it out of his mouth. Timmy whips around, narrowing his eyes, one brow raising questioningly. 

“Why would you say it like that?” He pushes the button on the camera to turn it off, then puts a hand on his hip, confrontational. 

Armie gulps, knowing deep in his gut that things will spiral from here. “Huh? I’m just asking.” 

“No, please, go on. Tell me why you need to sound derogatory over that commentary.” 

“Dude, I swear, you’re reading too much into it. Why are you even this affected if I’m wrong?” 

The stare down gives the answer a few moments later, but trust the guy to always land the blow. “I’m gay.” 

Armie feels ashamed of himself pretty quickly, his face burning. “I swear I don’t mean it that way - wait, don’t you need to shoot?” 

Timmy twists the camera off, putting it around his neck, then folds the tripod and lifts it. Armie tries to walk towards him but he swings it on the space between them, keeping him away. “Let me just have a day or two to find some temporary housing then I’d be off.” 

“What the fuck are you on about now? You’re going to waste money.” 

“I’m willing to pay for a safe space, actually.”

“Are you saying I’m homophobic? Because I’m not.” 

“Actually, you’re going to need more energy than that. Start by being _sensitive_ over your use of words.” 

Armie doesn’t move from his spot, dumbfounded at how quickly things went south when they were literally conversing like normal people for once. He doesn’t manage to collect himself until Timmy is completely out of his sight, disappearing down the hall and back to his little room. Armie fidgets, unsure of how to proceed, then sees his phone blinking with a new message. 

_From: Nick_

_He’s alive! Great job!_

_From: Nick_

_You can hate the guy all you want but you can’t deny he’s very good looking_

Well, since he’s here…

_To: Nick_

_Dude tell him I’m not homophobic._

_From: Nick_

_Oh my God what did you say_

Armie winces, knowing he’s definitely wrong on this one and stands with absolutely no chance. It was a stupid offhand comment, he’d admit, and obviously he has a problem syncing his brain to his mouth. At the same time, he’s also, deep down, aware that he has lingering toxic masculinity from a lifetime of being around posh, good-for-nothing heirs. He’s working on it, and he thinks he’s grown considerably, but clearly there’s still a long way to go. 

When his phone starts buzzing, Armie braces himself to get chewed on. “Nick, it’s fucking stupid and I know it.” 

There’s a resigned sigh, then Nick clicks his tongue. “I get it. It’s an offhand comment, I know, but _fuck_ Armie, you're like the _benchmark_ of heterosexuality. Remember to shut to fuck up next time. And about Timmy, didn’t you know?” 

“Well, assuming his sexuality would be much worse, isn’t it?” 

The line remains silent for a few seconds, which gives Armie another window to go through everything that came out of his mouth because he clearly doesn’t have strong standing today. 

“Oh my God, you dense mothefucker.” Nick finally says, sounding as though Armie drove without a car seat and ran over a deer. “It’s getting worse out now. The government doesn’t know how to handle shit, everything is spiking, they’re testing right now. It’s crazy. Don’t let him out. It’ll be on you if something happens.” 

“You want me to illegally detain him.” 

“The difference between caring and illegal detention is affection.” 

“See you in jail, accomplice.” 

“Wait you fucker-” 

Armie ends the call and shoves the phone back in his pocket. He walks straight to Timmy’s door, but stops when he finds it opened while he’s ranting furiously on his phone. When he notices Armie, he promptly switches to French, glaring angrily and pulling his clothes out of the wardrobe. Taking a deep breath, Armie gives himself a mental pep talk, because if there ever is a time to square up and drag his stiff fucking balls, this is it. Timmy decides his tactic is to exclude Armie by keeping to a small corner towards the en suite while he speaks only in French to whoever is on the other line. As a response, Armie takes the clothes and throws them right back to the wardrobe, uncaring that it’s creating an even bigger mess. It alarms Timmy, who hurriedly hangs up and jumps to his side, clawing at his arms and backing up against the wardrobe to close it behind him. 

Pointing a finger to his face, Timmy steps closer to stand in front of Armie, fuming. “We’re not friends, okay? You doing me charity by letting me live here doesn’t give you the right to make my identity sound degrading.” 

Armie glares at the finger between his eyes, then decides against swatting it away and only turns to the side so he can put a distance between them.“It was literally a stupid comment that I blurted and I don’t mean anything by it! It just came out like that!” 

“Oh, so you’re just _naturally_ talking with homophobic undertones, is that it?” 

“No, what the fuck! And it’s not even a slur!” 

“It’s not what you said, it’s how you said it!” 

“Wow, seriously?” 

“Yes!” Timmy whips around from the bed, hangers in hand. 

“I can only explain my behavior to be internalized because I’m from a conservative family and clearly I haven’t shaken everything off so I’m really sorry. Please, just, stop being mad, or something,” 

“Stop being mad?” Timmy asks, outraged. 

“Yes, because this is not how it works. I’m the one who’s always balls up on the wall because you get off on irritating the hell out of me so let’s set things right side up. Please?” 

Timmy gapes at him, dumbfounded but oddly amused that he huffed a laugh. “I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with you right now, oh my God.” 

“You don’t need it. Just have the mental capacity to realize that you can’t go out especially _now_ because no one knows what to do and everything is running out so just don’t go out.” 

“You’re keeping me against my will.” 

“I spoke to Nick. We’ll catch the case together.” 

Timmy slumps down on the bed, rubbing his temple but visibly less furious. 

Armie takes it as an opportunity to try again. “I’m sorry, I really am. I’m a massive idiot-” 

“This is _not_ news, Armie.” Timmy snaps, putting his hand away from his face and looking up at him defiantly. 

Armie stares down at the guy, willing his blood not to boil with how fucking difficult of a man Timmy is. “I’m calling my therapist. I’m getting convinced that you’re my sleep paralysis demon.”  
  


“Damn, I had no idea you’ve been seeing me on your bed.” 

“You scar me for life, I swear to God.” 

That’s a criminal offense averted, as far as Armie is concerned, and they return to adamantly staying on opposite ends of the house so they don’t end up committing a crime. Of course, there comes a point where Timmy runs out of fruits, but he lasts another day off of popcorn and sneakily taking crackers from Armie. Finally, Timmy walks out one morning, in his usual clothes that are ridiculously big on him. 

“Smile for Nick,” Armie blurts, pulling out his phone and angling it up to his face. 

Will wonders ever cease, but Timmy actually complies, then when he speaks Armie understands why. “I ate all your cereals.” 

“Not the Reese’s Puffs,” 

“Exactly the Reese’s Puffs. Ain’t nobody with nut allergy here.” 

Armie just keeps his scowl on his face, staring dejectedly. “Hold on a sec, I’ll come with.” He says, stretching on his chair and pulling his phone out to text Nick. 

_To: Nick_

_He’s alive and raided my pantry_

_From: Nick_

_Immaculate_

“You? Doing grocery with me? Armie, be careful. People might start thinking we get along.” Timmy deadpans, leaning against the wall and watching him gather his stuff. 

“Please, _you’re_ the one who hated me from the start.” Armie replies, tossing his wallet in the air and catching it, then stops when he finds Timmy gawking at him, dumbfounded. “What?” 

Waving his hand frantically, Timmy moves away from the doorway and closer to him until they’re a meter apart. “Do you even remember how things turned batshit crazy between us?” 

Armie _doesn’t_ know particularly, but he has an idea. “I remember us tolerating each other, and then we actually talked and you just disliked me.” 

“No, no, remember that Halloween party? We were still in Columbia.” When telling a story, Timmy really does get into it, making big gestures with his hands to reenact what happened. “There’s this girl - sorry I don’t remember her - but you were after her, and I was playing Queen-” 

It’s like a sudden moment of clarity, a part of his brain unlocking and the memory returns. “You! Oh my God, I knew you’re a dick! You _knew_ I liked her and you decided to-” 

“Dude, we literally threatened each other with criminal charges over this. I’m _gay._ What do you think I’d get from doing that?” 

“I don’t know, prove a point?” 

“What point?” 

“That you’re better than me? You sure act like that’s your favorite hobby.” 

Timmy spends the better half of a minute staring at him in disbelief. “I was trying to impress _you,_ douchebag!” He exclaims, exasperated. 

The room feels as though it tilted then never righted itself to position. “Me?” 

“Yeah, you, but clearly you're a spectacularly loud heterosexual.” Timmy throws his hands in the air, then turns away. 

“You were hitting on me?” 

Timmy stares at him, disappointed. “This is my biggest failure in life.”


	3. Chapter 3

Armie gets it now. He definitely does. Obviously, Timmy doesn’t see him like that anymore. It’s been two years and they haven’t really been that good to each other. It’s also been days since Timmy shouted at the top of his lungs that he was originally going for Armie until he realized he’s a raging heterosexual who couldn’t even bend without crashing in a total meltdown, which is untrue. Armie has experimented enough growing up, but the ones who had been as curious as him didn’t do it. 

Not that he’s considering it  _ now. _ That’s just wrong. There’s clear power tripping between them that is going to be extremely hard to look past on, especially since he’s providing Timmy with a house in the middle of a pandemic because he’s stuck across the country away from his family. Armie won’t ever pull something like that. He’s an idiot, but he’s not a predator. 

With the way he’s shell shocked about it, Armie bets he’s literally the only person who didn’t have a clue. He’s had an awareness of Timmy, sometimes even more than that given how they just go for each other’s throats all the time, yet he never really once thought, because he always had girls clinging on him, then they lived together and Armie found that he’s pretty athletic. Sure, he’s got that  _ look, _ the one that made Armie’s uncontrolled part of the brain supply him with that ‘twink’ comment that nearly landed him in jail for serious illegal detention at the very least, but Armie has never seen him with  _ anyone _ so he didn’t assume. 

Well, technically, he assumed that Timmy is straight. It’s such a mind-fuck. 

In reality, it shouldn’t be. Armie should be over this by now. Maybe it’s just his ego that can’t get over the fact that there’s a point in time where a version of Timmy exists who liked him enough to shoot his shot, and he just missed it entirely because he’s busy landing himself a girl that they both don’t even remember down the line. 

But to be called the biggest failure of his life? Now Armie is definitely pulling a muscle. 

“Armie!” 

“Yes - ow, fuck!” 

Armie jumps in surprise that he hits his head on the wall behind him where he's sitting against, iPad in hand with its screen already locked. It takes a moment before he manages the pain behind his head, maybe even seeing stars behind his eyes until he opens them, blinking rapidly. 

Timmy is looking at him funny. “I was asking where the blender is? I want to make a smoothie.” 

“Try the cabinet on the counter. The one under the coffee machine.” Armie replies, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Do you need ice for that?” 

Armie waves at him, dismissive. He just wants Timmy to go away as his mortification begins to rise, having startled from being shouted at because heʼs thinking about the guy excessively. Though unsure about leaving him alone, Timmy still turns on his heels, his gaze a little lingering as he tries to control his scowl but canʼt quite stop reacting. He goes on his way, and Armie clears his throat in the empty room and goes back to his spreadsheet. 

It’s the disorientation, Armie decides. It’s simply hard to wrap his head around this new discovery when they’ve known each other for years and he’d been convinced that Timmy had nothing but intense dislike for him. Technically, that’s not entirely wrong now, but-

Fuck, he’s going in circles. He needs to work. 

Just as Armie is picking up momentum again, Timmy emerges from the corner, walking out from the kitchen and towards him. He’s holding a smoothie in one hand and a strange pouched towel in a bowl in the other, walking straight towards where Armie is sitting until he’s standing in front of him. 

Setting his glass down on the end table, Timmy hands the bowl to Armie, who’s so caught off guard that he automatically accepts it, then he pulls out the towel and drops it listlessly on the top of his head. “Ice,” he says. 

“I can tell.” Armie replies, blinking up at him. 

“That’s a good sign. Probably no concussions,” 

“Do you just randomly carry around science facts?” 

“I went to school, Armie.” 

Indignant, Armie sputters in his seat and glares at him. “Where do you think  _ I  _ went?” 

Timmy shrugs, picking up his smoothie and taking a long sip. “Parties, I guess?”

“Wrong, it’s football practice.” 

The unflinching admission surprises Timmy, then he bursts out laughing. “Then parties after season?” 

“Exactly,” he replies with a snap of his fingers. 

Timmy nods along, amused, then raises his glass to Armie as he turns away to leave. 

Armie arranges the ice pack behind his head as he watches Timmy leave. Nothing has changed, for the most part. They still bicker every single time they attempt a conversation, but at least they don’t have that lingering idea that they hate each other. That’s a misunderstanding put out of the way, and yet, Armie realizes, he doesn’t really know how to categorize Timmy aside from the way they’d been all these years. Definitely very disorienting. 

Out of all people, Tyler keeps him sane. They get to chat about everything from work, their quarantine, to the stupid things like the shows they’ve watched and recommend to each other for shit and giggles. His family, on the other hand, has gone in shambles. Viktor does end up in quarantine with their mother, and it’s interesting because he’s now in her daily social media updates, which consist of praying in the morning, arranging and redecorating the altar, bible studies, all the while with Viktor standing there, smiling through the pain. Their father is the one who ends up in the Caymans, good for him. As far as Armie knows, the guy is still working. 

It’s only that night that Armie is somewhat reminded that Timmy isn’t just hanging around and is here because of work. He turns the corner to eat his third bag of chips of the day, intending to go straight into his pantry when he hears Timmy singing on the other side of the door, seemingly recording himself to get harmony. Despite being the massive asshole that he chooses to be all the damn time, Armie won’t ever discredit Timmy for his talent. He’s always had that impression, so right now he doesn’t really blame that girl, bless her soul, for turning to Timmy in that fateful Halloween party in Columbia. 

_ From: T _

_ Hey I saw you got a guitar  _

_ From: T _

_ Can I borrow it? It won’t be long I promise  _

Armie stands there, blinking at his screen, feeling a little weird that they’re texting when he’s creepily eavesdropping by the door. Self-conscious, Armie turns around and jogs to the recreation room where he knows he left the guitar in, grimacing at the pool table that he abandoned mid-game, then goes back to Timmy’s door, knocking. 

“Oh, come in!” Timmy shouts, followed by a thud that Armie thinks is because he tripped or something. 

When he comes in, Timmy is chasing a wireless microphone rolling on the floor, then his eyes light up when he sees the guitar. 

“It won’t take long, I promise.” Timmy says, walking up to him. 

Armie hands over the guitar and takes a look around the room, noting the amount of fruit peels and apple cores in the bin, also the two bowls of popcorn. He’s about to comment on it, just to be annoying, but then a loud, out of tune twang from the guitar string made him wince. 

“That killed all my creativity.” Timmy sits on the floor, in shock. 

“Shut the hell up,” Armie snaps, laughing lightly. “Not all of us are musically gifted.” 

“So you think I’m musically gifted?” 

“No, silly. I think you’re a fucking menace.” 

Timmy rolls his eyes, but he has a small smile on his lips as he sets it back on tune. “Do you play?” 

“Suddenly, no.” Armie answers quickly, watching him work to get the strings to sound right. 

“You’re not auditioning for Juilliard, calm down.” 

“If there’s a Simon Cowell in my life, it’s you.” 

Timmy bursts out laughing, tugging Armie by the ankle to throw off his balance. “Fuck you, not that greasy old dude.” 

“Hey, I swear if I fall over-” 

“No falling, Mr. Hammer.” 

Armie snorts, sitting down on the floor gingerly. “Got it.” 

“Clever boy.” Timmy quips absently, still tuning. 

“You recording?” Armie asks, pulling his knees to himself. 

“Trying,” Timmy replies as he plucks. “I’m sending it in for a label. Also trying to film an audition piece.” 

“Any luck?” 

Timmy sighs, and it doesn’t sound good. “Things like these, they’re auditions and callbacks and showcases and callbacks over and over again. My only option is to just put myself out there as much as I can.” 

“Wow, that’s…” 

“Yeah…” Timmy pouts, tilting his head to check each string, then nods when it satisfies him. “Wanna hear me play?” He asks, looking up at Armie through the hair falling to his eyes. 

Too surprised for words, Armie shrugs, gesturing for him to go on. There’s a twitch on the corners of Timmy’s mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he proceeds to pluck at the strings, then surprises Armie again when he sings. 

“All along it was a fever; a cold sweat, hot headed believer.

I threw my hands in the air, said, ‘Show me something.’

He said, ‘If you dare, come a little closer.’

Round and around and around and around we go.

Oh, now tell me now, tell me now, tell me now you know.

Not really sure how to feel about it; something in the way you move,

Makes me feel like I can't live without you

It takes me all the way, I want you to stay.” 

Even though he knew that Timmy is a great musician, it didn’t prepare Armie to the moment when he’ll be watching it up close, sitting facing each other on his guest room floor in the middle of the night. It’s nearly a whisper, the way the song is sung, yet the pitch is quite high, and his very proximity to it makes the hair on his arms tingle. Once done, it doesn’t immediately sink in to him, and he has to tear his gaze away from Timmy for his focus to break; too carried away by the short performance. 

Timmy looks up at him again, expectant. 

Keeping their brand, Armie clears his throat, and in his best Simon Cowell impression, says “I couldn’t hear anymore.” 

Timmy pushes him with the guitar, sending him on the floor. 

Their relationship improved significantly since then. It’s not like they’re instantly best friends, the bickering hasn’t even calmed down one bit, but it’s not hostile anymore. There’s a sense of security on where they stand now. Armie doesn’t ask for his guitar back, and Timmy uses it to the fullest. Some days, he alternates with playing and exercising, and Armie is just happy to join him in either of the activities. He still hasn’t found it in him to play guitar around Timmy, but the guy doesn’t mind. They just sit there, browsing for the most obnoxious country song to sing in the middle of the night, beer cans discarded across the floor. 

The lockdown gets stricter and stricter each day, to the point that they’re now ordering their groceries online. It’s quite an experience every time and they definitely spend more than they intend to, especially since a lot of the staples are sold out, so they have random gourmet products lying around. As more tests are conducted, the numbers just blow up, and traveling is now completely off the table. Timmy makes up for it by being constantly on a call with his family, who Armie has even met more than once. It was awkward. At least they’ve found a common ground. It only took them two years and a pandemic, but it still happened. 

_ To: Tyler _

_ He sings with a mic in a small fucking room _

_ From: Tyler _

_ Why are you in his room?  _

Armie physically flinches at the text message, catching Timmy’s attention. 

“What? Is the stock market doing bad today?” 

Scowling, Armie looks over at Timmy, who then immediately breaks out in confusing rap verses. 

“What the fuck?” Armie asks, his laughter bubbling as he listens to the lyrics talking about statistics. “Lil what?” 

Timmy doesn’t even pause, blasting the rap through the speakers as he stands up. It’s not even halfway done when Armie is already on the floor, laughing himself to tears. 

It’s probably bound to happen at some point, yet Armie still stares at the text message he got from a female friend.  _ That _ kind of female friend. It’s Tori; a Ukranian-American model that he met in a party and kept in touch with. He considers it, and comes to the conclusion that it’s not at all a bad idea, then Tori mentions that she’ll come over once she finishes a shoot. It throws Armie off that he turns her down at the last minute, uncomfortable with the idea as soon as he finds out that she’s been out and about all this time. Some of them are trying to be as responsible as possible. He can’t blame her for the hustle, but he’s not risking it either. 

Armie isn’t nearly as promiscuous as his reputation suggests. Word gets around, sure, and he neither confirms nor denies anything, especially when it involves another person. Instead, he prefers to keep them wondering, speculating behind his back whether he did or did not. In reality, he stops doing one night stands after grad school, because he has no other choice. He tried to pick that up once in business, but it’s a disaster. Everyone wants something out of someone, and Armie’s the only idiot in the field who only wants to get off. He ends up feeling like a clown rather than satisfied most times, so he just opted for contacts, just in case. 

But God, does he want to just get it now. Nearly a month is definitely the longest time he hasn’t gotten laid since that family charity project they did in the Cayman Islands that he and Viktor agreed to never mention ever again. 

A popcorn kernel hits him on the temple, breaking his trance. Armie looks over the counter at Timmy, who’s chewing as he stares questioningly. “What?” He asks, picking up the popcorn and throwing it back at him. 

Timmy just catches it with his mouth. 

“Ew,” 

“I bet an oily face isn’t the worst we’ve both had in our mouths.” 

Armie snorts so loud it thrums up to his forehead. “For sure.” 

The maintenance is back in operation, thank God. It’s getting crusty around the house. It ends up with them hanging out on the yard for the better part of the day, Timmy particularly feeling blinded by the sunlight since he hasn’t really been out in days as he records music and shoots for his portfolio. Armie is one sunbathing away from an aggressive tan. The split priority is really telling here. 

“Doesn’t Nick want a picture of me?” Timmy asks, sitting on his fence. 

“He won’t ask until tomorrow or something. He’s getting lax now that we won’t kill each other.” 

“The chances are low but never zero.” 

_ To: Nick  _

_ He just threatened to kill me again _

Timmy looks over his shoulders, reading the text. “Give me,” he says, palms up. 

If he tries anything, Armie can just toss him to the pool, so he hands over his phone. Timmy switches to camera,  shifts momentarily so he’s under the shed, then snaps  a clip of himself and sends it. 

_ To: Nick _

_ Too late  _

__   


_ From: Nick _

_ Ugh why  _

_ From: Nick  _

_ Tyler’s bet was you’re gonna beat his bitch ass up I can’t believe he won _

“They what?” 

“See, these letters right here say youʼre gonna-” 

“I can read.” 

“Then act like it, bitch ass.” 

When they’re not up on each other’s throats tearing at it for fun, they somewhat successfully coexist in the same space. They can eat meals together now, though with reasonable space between, like across the kitchen island or on different couches in the living room. Surprisingly, they are not completely helpless in the kitchen. It all started when theyʼre both on the verge of choosing water fasting over consuming one more processed food, so they included ingredients for simple dishes they could manage, which turned out to be pasta most of the time. Armie knows how to cook meat, to his credit, but Timmy only eats a square inch of serving before he’s full. A chicken, through and through. 

“See, look at that. I can’t believe maintenance missed this.” Timmy rounds the counter, holding up the memorable bag of onions back when Armie picked up Timmy in Trader Joe’s. 

It doesnʼt look good in the slightest. “You just need to peel the outer layers and they’re good.” Armie replies, snatching the disgusting produce and opening the net bag. 

“I’d believe you if you eat it.”

Due to complete lack of foresight, Armie jumps on the opportunity to disagree with Timmy, which is why he’s furiously peeling off the outer layers of one onion he plucked out, clawing at each of it until he gets to the smoother, cleaner bulb inside, then takes a massive bite like it’s an apple. 

Timmy’s jaw isn’t the only thing he’s taking off the floor. Much later that night, Armie tosses and turns, a little worried that his stomach is upset. By dawn, he welcomes the new day by throwing up. 

“Amazing,” Timmy huffs, walking into his room and turning on the light after receiving a text. “This is exactly how I want to start my day; by looking through your vomit in case I find that onion and chuck it to your face.” 

Armie doesnʼt even reply, moaning pitifully on his bed. 

It effectively puts Armie on bed for the rest of the day. His stomach isnʼt even usually this weak, especially considering all the junk food he lived off of these past weeks, but maybe that goddamn onion was the last straw. The thing about Armie when he’s sick is that it renders him utterly useless. He’d lie where the disease struck him, and either wait for recovery or death. It’s very likely a consequence of child neglect on the part of his parents, which resulted in him using sickness as an excuse to demand attention, but no one talks about that in their household. 

Out of innate consideration, Timmy moves a lot of his stuff to Armieʼs room to watch over him. He makes sure that Armie stays hydrated and feeds him with fruits, crackers and cereals, while he edits his photos and videos on the rug on the floor, looking offensively comfortable for someone hunched over his laptop. 

“Your fucking phone,” Timmy tugs his headphones off, glaring at the continuous buzz of his phone on the bedside table. 

Armie slaps the blanket over his face, then rolls on the bed, wrapping himself like a burrito. “Iʼm on death’s doorstep.” 

“Yeah, because I swear to God, I’d skin you alive if you don’t pick that up.” 

“It’s just a text. It’ll stop.” 

There’s faint thud on the rug, then a steady fall of footsteps. “Oh, it’s a booty call!” Timmy exclaims gleefully, clapping. 

Armie tosses the blanket away from his face to glare at him. “Since when are we going through each other’s phones?” 

“Since I mopped your vomit on the floor and changed you out of your soaked sweater.” Timmy throws the phone on his chest, cushioned by the blanket that he wrapped around himself. “Have you hooked up with a stomach bug? Never too late for firsts, you know.” 

Armie grimaces, disgusted. “You sing beautifully and this is what comes out of your mouth when you talk.”

Timmy returns to his spot on the floor, snorting through his mocking laughter obnoxiously. 

When Armie drifts off to sleep that night, he knows that Timmy is still on his bedroom floor, editing. What he didn’t count on to happen was waking up to the guy passed out on the sofa by the wall, leaning against the armrest with his neck bent towards his shoulder, his head barely supported. Armie gets an uninterrupted sleep and when he stretches he tries to get a feel of his stomach, waiting for it to complain and erupt in pain. It doesn’t come, so Armie throws his blanket off and goes down to his kitchen, intending to actually make them real food for once in this goddamned lockdown. 

Contrary to his default behavior, Armie isn’t actually that bad in the kitchen. He follows three rules; wash the produce, season the food, don’t burn anything. It worked for him so far. It’s not like he’s attempting a five-star breakfast though, so he takes some avocados, mashes them, toasts some bread, then sets them aside as he fries some eggs. While cooking, Armie can’t help the short bits of laughter that escapes him as he reads the labels of some of the grocery items they got. They have gourmet jam and marmalade, artisan cheese, French seaweed butter, organic everything; all the things they would otherwise ignore except that the ordinary brands are already sold out and the store is left with all the pretentious products that inflated its price by more than a half. 

“Wow,” Timmy walks into the kitchen, hair still tousled from sleep as he blinks through the bright light. “So people in L.A do really eat avocados all the time, huh?” 

Armie snorts. “I  _ don’t, _ but I thought of making it.”

“For?” 

“You,” he answers, plating the toast and carefully laying down the egg on top. Sliding the plate across the kitchen island, Armie juts his chin towards the seasonings, then turns away to prepare his own serving. 

“Wow,” Timmy says behind him. “Is this the part where you’re finally poisoning me?” 

Armie scowls, walking to his side of the island and pulling the stool. “You’re already eating.” 

“And I’d do it again.” 

Timmy, in fact, does it again, when he finishes his food and decides that he can safely steal off of Armie’s plate. He can’t even take offense in it, seeing firsthand how little the man eats on the daily. After their breakfast, Timmy strays to the fridge, taking out some grapes and snacks on it while he hums absently. 

It’s more than an hour past their meal when Armie realizes that Timmy hasn’t left his side, sitting on his couch in the living room and fiddling with his phone while he works on his laptop. Armie supposes he’s still under monitoring, which he understands fully but can’t quite wrap his mind around. It’s hard to imagine, considering where they previously stood. 

“Why are you staring?” Timmy asks, not even bothering to tear his eyes off his screen. 

“I’m alive.” Armie says dramatically, blowing out a feigned sigh of relief. “You didn’t kill me.” 

To his surprise, Timmy looks up to him and sends a smile his way. “You’re a total idiot but you’re cool.” 

“I keep saying that!” 

“It only took you puking your guts out to convince me. Take notes next time.” 

The pandemic only worsens day after day. Another maddening development is the fact that people begin to protest against the virus, citing their constitutional rights against being told to wear masks, rallying on the streets about the quarantine, calling the virus fake. It has become a thing between Armie and Timmy to sit in front of the television, wallowing in their despair that this thing is not going to improve anytime soon. 

“What’s the thing you’d hoard off the grocery?” Timmy would ask, just to ride with the flood of bad news. 

Armie would click his tongue and contemplate the question, whatever it turns out to be. “Alcohol.” 

“At this point, same.” 

They sometimes play pool, which is something Timmy is absolute terrible at, and only does so he can fuck around with Armie. Just because he can, he’d mess up their game, follow absolutely no rules, waste shots. It’s so useless to play with him, there’s no thrill or even a slight objective, but Armie is usually down on the floor, his belly aching from laughter. 

“Armie, I’m out of fruits.” Timmy tells him as they float around in the pool, exhausted from swimming laps. 

“I’m out of will to live.” Armie replies, but makes a mental note to schedule their online grocery later that night. 

It just gets worse and worse, and it’s only until Armie finds Timmy in the kitchen past midnight, eating ice cream on the counter, that he actually sees the distress that they usually play off all day everyday because it’s always easier to joke about how bad things are getting. Armie almost hesitates and thinks against interrupting Timmy’s stress eating, or whatever he wants to call it, but he walks in anyway. It definitely looks like the world is ending. What is there left to fight over? 

“That’s my ice cream. You said you didn’t want any other flavor than vanilla.” Armie says as he saunters to the fridge, pulling out Timmy’s plain ice cream. 

“Yeah, but you got cheesecake.” Timmy answers like it’s supposed to make sense. 

Armie takes the lid off, then digs in. “What?” 

“I miss New York.” Timmy clarifies. The correlation is there, but what it speaks more of is how everything is truly taking a toll on him. “Like, I know you don’t care, but we’re stuck with each other, and I just hate it. At the very least, I wish I could be with my family when the world is literally crumbling, no offense to you, you’re actually pretty great. Even back when we had nothing good to say to each other, you’re really fucking fly.” 

Armie startles a bit, shifting from one foot to another. “Wow, thanks, I guess?”

Timmy waves him off. “Sure, you’re welcome,” he says. “It’s just so exhausting at this point. Like, Australia was burning, we thought we were gonna have the third world war, Kobe died man.”

“I have nothing to offer for comfort because I’m terrible at this but you can finish my ice cream.” 

“It’s good enough, don’t worry.” 

Maybe they fostered a new bond that night, or the stars finally aligned and thought their era of cat and mouse is officially over, but if Armie must name a time where he will say in full confidence that they’ve gone to friendship, it would be that. They’re past the point of simply tolerating each other in the same space. Armie would catch himself automatically turning towards Timmy when he sees something interesting, or he just wants to complain. Timmy shows Armie endless TikToks, which definitely takes him more than a couple of clips before he gets the hang of the general humor and starts to laugh at it. They no longer open up about their worries about this pandemic. It’s there and raging, and only worsening because people are stupid. They learned to live with that, and assure themselves with the fact that at the very least, they don’t hate each other to the core. 

On the day’s episode of rapid fire questions, Timmy asks “Choose the last hook up of your life, go.” 

“I - uh, Gal Gadot.” Armie answers, which isn’t entirely wrong, but it wouldn’t be his answer if given more time. 

Timmy nods in consideration. “You straights always gotta reach.”

Armie snorts and pelts him with popcorn. “Why? Who’s yours?” 

“Dude, that guy I met at the bar before this stupid lockdown. We were supposed to go out. That’s it.” Timmy grabs a handful of popcorn and aggressively stuffs it in his mouth. “I don’t even remember his name anymore. I’m not even sure if he actually existed or it was a fever dream one night when I got especially frustrated.” 

“Geez, that’s rough. Do you want a kiss?” Armie puckers his lips, then makes kissing noises just to be an ass. 

Count on Timmy to be the bigger dickbag. He opens his mouth, his tongue littered with crumbs of chewed popcorn, waiting. Armie isn’t one to back down from a challenge so he actually leans in and shoves his tongue in Timmy’s mouth, wiggling it around while he keeps his lips wide open, just to make it more disgusting. Timmy’s eyes widen and his nose scrunch as he squirms away, repulsed, and they break down in a fit of laughter. 

“You nasty fuck, I can taste the smoothie from this morning!” Armie complains, throwing a pillow at Timmy who slid down to the floor, holding his belly. 

“Oh my God, you stupid son of a bitch!” Timmy guffaws, falling face first on the carpet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's that for a first kiss? LMFAO I really don't know why I write them like the biggest idiots in the world, but I have fun doing it.


	4. Chapter 4

Armie is never a darling to anyone’s family, simply because of his general vibe as a rich, white guy who doesn’t seem like he would amount to much if it wasn’t for his father’s money, but it’s a different story with Timmy. Sure, the fact that he’s providing their son a house in the middle of a pandemic for free might have a lot to do with that, but Timmy’s family has been nothing but pleasant to him right from the very start. He doesn’t just randomly pop in their calls, but with how their relationship improved, sometimes Timmy would just take calls while they’re hanging out, and Armie would automatically greet them just because. 

Not in the fucking pool though. 

“Are we - uh, Timmy?” Pauline looks panicked on the screen, squirming away from their parents in the background to hide the screen. “Am I interrupting something?” She asks, dropping her voice to a low whisper. 

Armie looks over the horizon, his face burning and definitely not because he’s sitting on the pool ledge under the sun with his calves in the water. 

“Huh? No?” Timmy replies, still dipped in the water with one arm over Armie’s leg to keep himself afloat. 

Armie counts to three, waiting for Timmy to realize that he’s essentially bobbing up and down on the surface between his legs, gripping on his thigh while he holds up his phone with the other. It doesn’t come. Instead, Timmy struggles to reach the ledge, keeping his phone over his head. Armie flails and helps him out of impulse, grasping him by the flank to help him climb over to his side. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Armie watches Nicole, Timmy’s mother, slightly mortified as she watches through their FaceTime, looking between the phone then back to Pauline. If this family ever found him endearing before, clearly it’s time to bid farewell to that impression. They have a full view of his crotch next to their baby son’s face. It’s so  _ amazing. _

“Timothée!” Marc greets, turning around just in the nick of time that they’re out of that weird fucking position that Timmy still hasn’t realized. “Oh, hello to you as well, Armie.” 

Uncharacteristically losing his ability to speak, Armie just raises his hand in a weak wave. Pauline catches on and moves her face to the side, sucking her lips in to stop herself from laughing. 

Nicole is nervously rubbing on her collarbones, looking warily over her husband who’s happily clueless over the state that their call opened to just a couple of moments ago. “Should we - uhm, you two - give you maybe some time?” 

Another clueless motherfucker is one half of the circus, Timmy himself. “What? This?” He looks over at Armie then back to his phone. “Yeah, maybe some clothes on first, hold on.” 

That fucking choice of words, seriously, Armie would’ve had a coronary. He wants to jump into the pool or spontaneously combust under the sun, whichever happens to come first will do. Timmy doesn’t even find anything wrong with their situation. In fact, he goes to fetch towels, one he wraps around his neck and the other he hands to Armie, still holding his phone to his face and chatting listlessly. Armie automatically takes it and catches Pauline’s eyes, and the instant their gazes lock she snorts and coughs, disguising her laughter. 

So far, the country just gets fucked over more by the political side of it. Trump doesn’t want to address the virus. People are ignoring the quarantine regulations. Some are even protesting against it. People are dying. The health care system is bonkers, but what’s new? Schools are shut as well which, as a silver lining, people quip that finally there’s no mass shooting. They watch the news everyday with a matching grimace. 

One of the things they start picking up is cooking, or at least Timmy does. Armie knows how to cook, though just a little over the bare minimum, but it’s Timmy who hasn’t got much clue around the kitchen in general. He can make a sandwich at least, but he misses some key points like how you don’t really need oil for frying bacon, or that you should move the eggs around the pan if you don’t want an overcooked sponge. 

For whatever reason, Timmy just can’t agree to make his own life easier. It’s an ordinary, boring day, exactly what Armie wants for once in the middle of a pandemic, when Timmy disappears into the pantry, then comes out with flour and measuring cups. Armie is alarmed immediately, because flour doesn’t give much away. It could be  _ anything.  _

“What are you making?” Armie asks cautiously, watching him take a massive bowl and dump flour in it. 

Timmy doesn’t even look up. “Sugar cookies, or something.”

“How do you make that?” 

Finally, Timmy pauses then turns towards him, probably to gauge his reaction. He snorts when he realizes Armie doesn’t know how to pull that off, either. 

“No fucking clue, man. Wanna join?” 

And so they bake their first batch of cookies ever in their lives. Armie has a vague recollection of doing it with one of his girlfriends or something, but he knows for a fact that he wasn’t entirely willing at that time, and that he didn’t contribute much of anything other than his presence. This time, Armie honestly thinks it might be fun and he’s a little pumped about it too because they’re equally clueless. For instructions, they both refer to AllRecipes, which instinctively feels wrong right away, but who are they to say that? 

“Do you have a mixer?” Timmy asks, looking down on the clump of ingredients in the bowl that can still be identified individually. 

“I don’t know,” he replies truthfully. “Don’t bother. I’ll just beat it with my hand.” 

“Got to do a lot of that during the quarantine, huh?” 

“You’re one to talk.” 

The sugar cookies aren’t bad, but they’re not worth it. They didn’t mess it up completely but everything is just off, from the texture to the taste. Baking also means there will be tons of dishes to wash after. It’s still fucking hilarious, though. Timmy has no idea that you need to leave it to cool first and takes a bite once he can touch it. 

“Spit it out,” Armie tells him, laughing as Timmy jumps around with his mouth open, blowing air as the biscuit breaks and the heat spreads in his mouth. 

“No,” he insists, barely making the word sound right, then continues to puff out air and wincing every time he tries to chew. 

Armie just watches him, spectacularly amused. Timmy keeps flailing and jumping around, shaking his hands in the air as he moves his jaw side to side and huff continuously. It feels like watching bug torture, but he can’t look away. 

“Ah,” Timmy opens his mouth, showing that the biscuit is gone. “See? I swallowed that like a champ.” 

He definitely didn’t look like a champ the entire time, and that just sounds wrong, doesn’t it? Or maybe Armie just needs to get laid because it’s close to two months and they’re a few loose screws in the head at this point. 

_ To: Nick _

_ I’m going nuts  _

Armie kicks off his blankets, frustrated and a little weirded out by himself that his first instinct is to text Nick when what he really wants is to hook up. 

_ From: Nick  _

_ We all expected this don’t act special  _

Armie huffs, rolling on his stomach to reply, but another message comes in. 

_ From: Nick  _

_ Flights might get back to operation in a week or two  _

_ From: Nick  _

_ Definitely going to be a lot more expensive but Paris is Paris, I guess.  _

Something about social isolation dissolves Armie’s concept of time. It’s sort of ambiguous now to imagine the months that passed when their days have blurred together and it feels more like an extremely long day with naps in between. He stares at the text, confused. Sure, he knows that Timmy is monitoring the flights, but he’s not aware that they’re going to another fucking country. 

_ To: Nick  _

_ They’re all going to France?  _

_ From: Nick  _

_ Dude you’re the roommate why don’t you ask  _

It makes sense for them to, if Armie is being honest. It’s simply not looking better for them here, and not likely to change anytime soon as well. If they can quarantine in a country with better social security, why wouldn’t they? Armie’s a little jealous though, he has to admit. Even his father is in the Caymans, probably in a posh resort or their private villa, but that one’s in the middle of nowhere and not good for business. 

It sucks to think about people living your dream, so Armie settles for second best and browses through his contacts. It’s useless to try to play it off at this point, so he just goes for it and waits for who will reply first. He doesn’t have to wait very long, because he’s definitely not the only person in quarantine who’s losing their minds. He even has an option as three women reply to him, but honestly as a man Armie has long accepted that he sleeps with who he can, the women sleep with who they want. 

In the end he has one. Michelle is a ballerina that Armie cannot remember how he met, and that alone tells him that he was probably drunk out of his mind when it happened. They try to work out an arrangement, but it’s quite a deal breaker when she wants to stay over for a couple of days. It’s not that Armie minds. Normally, he’ll be down for that, but two roommates make him feel a little crowded, so he allows the conversation to die down that night. 

“Are you on Grindr?” Armie’s head automatically whips around when he hears the familiar ping of the sound, smirking as he realizes it’s from Timmy’s phone and it’s seven in the morning. 

Timmy doesn’t even bat an eye, but he has a quip of his own. “The fact that you even  _ know _ the ringtone.” 

Armie bursts out laughing, then throws popcorn to his face. 

Michelle becomes a push and pull situation for the next two days since Armie reached out. Sometimes it’s her, sometimes it’s him. It dies off eventually, and honestly Armie doesn’t care. Even his sexual frustration doesn’t get him to bend over backwards when he can just drown himself in his pool until his dick calms down. So that’s what he does. 

As far as he knows, and definitely not because he’s secretly watching out for it, Timmy isn’t having it any better either. If he is, he would be asking to have someone over by now, or he’ll be going out, but neither happens. It’s miserable and somewhat relieving. Armie won’t have to watch someone have better luck, but it also means no one gets lucky. 

Poking Timmy with his toes as they sit on the living room floor, Armie says “Play something.” 

Timmy looks over at him, then picks up the guitar. “This is in memory of the Celine Dion song in the car that night that you picked me up.” 

Armie kicks him on the thigh, but Timmy only goes on to sing the most difficult parts of It’s All Coming Back To Me Now, which is equal parts impressive and hilarious. He can’t quite reach a lot of it, but those that he can, he sings very well. 

“Who the fuck were you even thinking of, playing that song?” Timmy asks in between his laughter. “Were you trying to get laid? Oh my God, you were, weren’t you?”

“Well, who’s singing it  _ now? _ Not me,” Armie counters haughtily, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Are we doing this? Because you very willingly licked my mouth for no reason.” 

“I do that to everyone.” 

Timmy laughs out loud. “Geez, I hope not. That was terrible.” 

Armie genuinely feels insulted, especially with how fragile his ego has gotten over the quarantine with no validation. “Excuse me? I’m a good kisser, thank you very much.” 

“Dude,” Timmy is still laughing as he puts the guitar away to stand up. “Why are you telling me this? What are you gonna do? Prove it?” 

The translation is that it’s useless for Armie to defend himself because Timmy will never know anyway. The problem lies in him, because there’s still a part of his brain that’s conditioned to double back from feeling massively inadequate around the guy. 

“Yeah, sure. Come here,” Armie holds his hand out as he gets on his feet. 

Timmy looks surprised, watching him curiously and clearly not believing that it’ll happen. Which is why Armie doesn’t even think twice when he goes down to put their mouths together, kissing Timmy in earnest until he yelps. It probably has sunk in that Armie actually did it, and Timmy pulls away, staring at him with wide eyes.    
  


“What the fuck?” Timmy asks, delirious between his shock and amusement. “Are you okay?” 

It’s also slowly coming to Armie what just happened, and at this point he can only shrug. “Sure. I was just saying,” 

“Either you have fragile masculinity or you’re in denial.” 

“I’ve experimented with men, for your information.” 

Timmy just lost it there, bending to his knees in laughter. “Dude, what the fuck? Are you trying to hook up with me? Your game is fucking off.” 

“Bold of you to assume I’m interested.” Armie points out, putting his hand on his hips as he stares him down. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Timmy waves his hand dismissively. “I told you, you’re the loudest heterosexual I’ve ever seen, but fuck, you act questionably.” 

Before anything could come to perspective, Armie reaches out to Michelle once more that night, just to set things right side up again. He’s aware of the possible meltdown that would follow if he goes down that road, so he just happily represses it to the back of his mind and goes back to figuring things out with her. Besides, Armie just has an impulse to always prove Timmy wrong, no matter what the topic may be. Kissing him probably shouldn’t be part of that agenda, but it seemed like a good response at the moment. 

God, but he’s losing his fucking mind in quarantine. 

It’s good that none of it really fazes either of them. They still interact the same way, which is a good sign. They know to brush meaningless things off for what they are, but Armie has that voice in his head that is insistently warning him against pushing his luck, which he agrees with a hundred percent. He doesn’t have a heterosexual reason for just diving in for a kiss, let alone for an uncontrollable urge to prove himself in the first place. It’s not like he feels that there’s a need to assert his sexuality. It’s just improper, especially given their context that he’s in isolation with a gay man while they’re both growing more and more sexually frustrated. 

But, for the million dollar question, will he do it? Armie stops and stares at his reflection, putting his toothbrush on the holder mounted on the wall. He wipes his face and leans over the sink. The last guy he messed around with was during his undergrad, and that feels like a lifetime ago. The short answer is that it’s not a good idea. 

The next day, Armie wakes up hot and sticky, and he’s so pissed off by his own biology that he’s a hair strand away from throwing a tantrum first thing in the morning. 

When he gets down to the kitchen, he sees Timmy playing with the mysterious soccer ball in the lawn. Armie doesn’t bother him and goes straight to prepare himself something to eat. It’s a work day, and doing it from home is infinitely worse than being in an office. Needless to say, it doesn’t help with Armie’s already foul mood. 

Michelle is still difficult, and Armie is starting to really believe that this bullshit isn’t worth putting up with. 

“Is that me - oh, no, it’s not, sorry.” 

Armie jumps that his phone slips out of his hands and falls on the counter. He turns to glare at Timmy, who’s holding a hand over his mouth, shocked. 

“Man, I’m sorry, I thought it was a picture of me.” He says, actually looking sheepish about it. 

“That’s Michelle,” Armie replies, picking up his phone and turning the screen back on. 

Timmy looks around awkwardly. “Okay,” 

“Why would you think?” 

“Oh, I did a photoshoot like that.” 

Armie stares at him, unconvinced. Timmy scoffs and takes his own phone out, then sends the picture to him. 

“That one,” he says, jutting his chin towards his phone. 

_ From: T  _

The moment the attachment opens, Armie sees it. They do look strikingly similar. Timmy is styled to appear more feminine, definitely, but Michelle herself also has that regal, almost androgynous look in that particular shot that he received from her, and it’s messing with his head. 

“Hey, no need to look terrified, I was just saying.” Timmy blurts, frowning at him with concern. “You alright?” 

“I can’t believe I’m trying to get into her pants only for you to send me a picture where you two look identical.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Nah, it’s cool. She’s so much damn work anyway.” 

Except that Armie isn’t as cool about it as he thought. 

_ To: Nick  _

_ What do you think about Michelle? The ballerina?  _

Armie puts his phone down but keeps his eyes on it, leaving Timmy to fiddle around his kitchen and pour himself some juice. 

_ From: Nick  _

_ Intimidating? She never looks happy _

_ From: Nick _

_ Oh is it because of Timmy? They do look alike  _

Armie gapes at the text banner, stunned, then feels too awkward to respond so he swipes his away and dedicates his day to erasing Michelle and Timmy on a side by side comparison from his head. He partially succeeds, and only because he’s thrown into work that he has no other choice at the end of the day but to pass out on his couch, dizzy with a throbbing headache. 

“Why are you sleeping here?” 

Armie stirs, feeling a hand cupping the back of his head, then he opens his eyes and finds his neck bent uncomfortably while his head dangles off the couch. 

“You must’ve killed your neck,” Timmy remarks, helping him sit upright while he still struggles to open his eyes. 

“What time is it?” He asks, rubbing his forehead. 

“Midnight,” Timmy answers. “Do you want anything? You don’t even look that good.” 

“Food, I think. I didn’t really have a full meal the entire day.” Armie actually can’t recall the majority of the day aside from his work, which is falling apart at the moment because money isn’t moving in the circle and they’re losing quite a bit. 

Timmy snorts, then slaps a hand over his mouth. “I’d get you something but I literally can’t cook. Can I tempt you with takeouts though?” 

Armie snorts too, then nods at Timmy to go ahead. 

Of all the places that deliver even at that hour, they still settle with McDonald’s. Eating burgers and fries on the floor late at night makes Armie feel like he’s back in school, somewhat drunk but desperate to get something in his stomach. It’s not too far off the mark, and if there ever will be a time that he’ll admit he’s showing signs of aging it’s at that moment. There’s no alcohol involved and he feels absolutely trashed. 

“I’m sorry if this is annoying but are you okay?” Timmy tilts his head, trying to get a good look of his face. 

Armie doesn’t even think to lie. “I’ve been trying to get laid and what do I get? Fucking shit ton of work and they’re all bad news.” He crumples the paper and throws it at his coffee table, watching it bounce off the edge. “I’m horny and losing assets, thanks for asking.” 

“Sounds tough,” Timmy says as he chews on his fries. “Nuggets?” 

“Hell yeah,” Armie takes the box and stuffs his face with it. “You? How’s work?” 

“I’m horny and losing assets, thanks for asking.”

Armie literally chokes on the chicken nuggets and coughs, pushing his laughter down so he can get some air. 

“Oh my God, warn a guy.” Armie complains, hitting himself on the chest to get the solid chunks down his throat. 

“What do you want me to say? Gay content coming? Because this gay isn’t.” 

Armie lets his face fall in his hand, feeling overly ridiculous that they’re trading sexual frustrations on his living room floor while eating a buffet of fast food. 

“I don’t even know what to do about that information.”   
  


“If only you were fluid we wouldn’t even have this fucking problem right now.” 

“Wanna try?” 

Timmy looks at him, alarmed. There’s a delay with his mouth-to-brain coordination, and since the offer is already out Armie just owns up to it with a casual shrug. 

“God, it really is dystopian, isn’t it? The fact that we’re talking about sleeping together is so fucking unbelievable.” Timmy leans back on his hands, watching him intently. 

“To be fair, that means no one will be winning any bets.” 

“Your priorities are always questionable.” 

Armie snorts. “I’m only human, excuse me.” 

“I can’t even tell if you’re being serious, man.” 

“Why?” 

“Why?” Timmy repeats with a scoff. “There’s a  _ list _ of it.” 

Armie laughs, knowing exactly what he means. “Damn, just say no.”

“That’s the thing. I’m gay, Armie. If you hook up with me, I’d enjoy it.” 

“God, two out of three conversations that we have, you just have to declare your sexuality.” 

“That’s - that’s really not the part of the sentence you should be focused on.” 

Armie looks around, as if he’s expecting alcohol to be within reach and regretting that he didn’t fetch some before this discussion. “That’s why I asked if you wanna try. Man, give me a break, my brain is half melted.” 

“Is that why you’ve been kissing me?” 

“Are we just gonna dig everything back up and dissect them?” 

“Yes, because I am in shock.” 

Armie rolls his eyes, grabbing his drink and taking a long sip. Timmy opens his mouth and he raises a hand, stopping him from talking, then waves for him to continue only when he finishes. 

“Is it because Michelle can’t make it?” Timmy asks, shifting from leaning back to forward, crossing his legs in front of him. 

“Thank God I stopped you so I can drink first.” Armie huffs with a shake of his head, but he doesn’t react. “No, what the hell?” 

“This is so damn weird-” 

“Right, let’s just not-”

Timmy’s arms shoot out in front of him. “No!” He flushes and retracts his hands but he crawls closer. “I can try, I mean, for that Halloween-party-me who was terribly ignored.” 

Armie doesn’t get the chance to respond when Timmy invades into his personal space, their faces inches apart, before the distance closes and their lips touch. It’s bland and awkward, or that could be because Armie is used to their two previous kisses that were laced with hilarity and mortification. He still moves his lips though, but he doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that even Timmy feels that it’s not doing a lot for them. 

“Well that was underwhelming,” Armie comments when they pull away. 

Timmy shrugs, not even a little insulted about it and looking like he even agrees. “Might as well,” he adds. 

Before Armie could ask, Timmy tilts his face by his jaw, then noses up on the side of his neck and drops kisses on his skin. Suddenly, Armie is gasping, there’s butterflies in his stomach, and his toes actually fucking curl that he arches off a little from the floor. 

“Shit,” he breathes out, his head falling to the side and letting Timmy do what he wants. 

What Timmy does is take both his wrists and hold them down on the floor, using that grip to straddle over his hips all the while dragging his teeth on the expanse of Armie’s neck. It’s safe to assume that he blacks out a bit and his brain short-circuits, but he recovers just in time to get bitten on the collarbone. The pin isn’t even that strong, but Armie still raises his hips helplessly, making Timmy chuckle against his neck. When his grip disappears, Timmy sits on his thighs and then threads his fingers in his hair, trying their luck once more on kissing and Armie actually moans into it. 

It doesn’t go smoothly. On the moments that Armie’s head isn’t swimming because of one thing or another that Timmy is doing, his brain races and he gets a nag that they’re quickly spiraling into something weird if not utterly dangerous. It gets shut down pretty quickly, because Timmy just pulls his sweater over his head, revealing to Armie a stack of chain necklaces on his neck that shines under the dim lights of the living room. He drags his nails on Timmy’s chest down to his stomach, watching the trail go red, then Timmy bends forward and slips his own hands under Armie’s shirt, tugging on it until it comes off. 

“What the fuck are your shorts? You’re at home.” Armie complains, insistently pulling on the knotted material. 

Timmy swats his hands away. “It’s a goddamn loop, Armie, just pull it through the hole.” 

“Then you pull it.” 

“Fine. Take your pants off.” 

“Keep your accessories.” 

“Okay but no socks, please.” 

Armie is taking his pants off when he laughs, incredulous. “Is it always going to be like this?” 

“You mean we’re doing this more than once?” Timmy asks, already down on his boxers. 

“Who’s to say?” Armie replies, going a little cross-eyed as he stares at Timmy nearly naked in front of him. 

It would’ve been nice if that’s the last they bickered during a hookup, but it’s not. They have nothing in the living room, so it immediately means they’ll only try to get each other off. Armie stubbornly refuses to admit that he’s as good as a middle schooler when it comes to sleeping with men because of how long it’s been; Timmy doesn’t back down from calling him out for it. Interestingly, Timmy is so assertive during sex, so sure of what he wants and what he doesn’t that it strangely assures Armie, knowing that if it’s uncomfortable or unwelcome, he’ll be stopped. At the same time, it’s pretty hot that his brain fries itself more than once, especially when Timmy just slides down and takes his dick into his mouth, blowing him so good that Armie doesn’t even stand a chance. In return, Armie can only give him a handjob, not really trusting himself with more than something he knows exactly how to do. Good thing that Timmy seems to get off on knowing that he’s done well, and in the end comes in Armie’s palm, breathless on the carpet. 

Timmy sees him reach over to the coffee table for something to wipe his hand with. “No, don’t use that napkin-” 

“Ew!” Armie whines, feeling a disgusting texture when he tries to clean his palm. 

“Ugh, I was gonna tell you I stuffed the pickle in there because I didn’t want to eat it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like can you even imagine what it's like in my head lmfao it gets disgusting


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I did add another chapter, because I just realized I can't squeeze everything in.

They’ll never admit it, but it definitely got weird. 

It’s not like they suddenly had a switch and they just can’t be in the same room together. In the morning after, Armie wakes up feeling a little less on edge, but still extremely exhausted from work. At least his body recognizes that there had been a form of release at some point, but the thought sends him into overthinking that he doesn’t leave the bed until lunch. It’s not the hookup per se, but again the circumstances. Armie feels guilty that he might’ve put Timmy in a position where he didn’t think it’d be right for him to refuse, yet at the same time he vividly remembers some enthusiastic consent on both parties, especially when Timmy pretty much took the helm and sucked his brain out of his dick. 

Now, that’s a pretty picture. 

Armie would identify as straight, and rather loudly so if one would take Timmy’s word for it. At the same time, he doesn’t think it makes him gay to say that Timmy is really fucking gorgeous when he tries. Maybe it’s a little gay to hookup with him, but Armie has slept with guys before. The difference is that none of it made him think twice because he didn’t enjoy it as much. With Timmy though, Armie is quite sure he’d probably do it again, and enjoy it _again._

It’s ridiculous that he’s hiding away in his own house, so Armie gets up and prepares himself for the day. He hears some music when he passes by Timmy’s room on his way to the kitchen, and his automatic response is to be as stealthy as he can. It irritates him, because it forces him to contemplate back to the same conundrum that he woke up in. It’s an affirmation of sorts now, telling himself that they were two consenting adults and he shouldn’t panic about it like he’s still seventeen in a locker room with his teammate. 

“Can I have some, too?” Timmy asks from behind, making Armie jump and dump coffee grounds on the counter. 

“Jesus, why do you just pop out?” Armie grouses, shaking off powder from his skin and taking a cloth to wipe the mess. 

Timmy snorts, opening the fridge and taking some milk. “What? Should I wear a bell?” 

“No! I mean sneaking.” Armie glares at him but prepares their coffee anyway. 

Suspicious, Timmy gives him an up and down and asks “Did you just wake up?” 

Armie sighs, frustrated for some reasons, and leaves the coffee to brew. “Yeah no, I’m just dead tired.” 

Somehow, that’s the answer that gives him away. Timmy slowly turns to face him as he gets mugs for their coffee, looking a little mortified and absolutely offended. “Oh my God, you feel weird, don’t you? I knew it. We made it weird.” 

“What? No!” Armie replies heatedly. “We’re literally grown adults, why would it be weird?” 

“Have you met an adult before? That’s literally what adults get weird about.” 

“It’s only weird if one of us feels taken advantage of.” 

Timmy closes his eyes to process that, his face turning red and his brows drawing together in anger. “Are you saying I took advantage of you?” 

Armie stops to stare him down. “No, you didn’t, so we can very much drop this now.” 

“No, we’re not dropping this.” Timmy walks over to stand in front of him, fuming. “Do tell me how it’s me taking advantage when you were the one who initiated literally everything.” 

“I didn’t say I feel taken advantage of!” Armie hears his own voice rising but can’t seem to tone it down. “I’m just aware that you could’ve just felt obliged because I’m letting you live in my house.” 

“Well, I _didn’t._ Unlike some of us, I knew what I was getting myself into.” Timmy spins away and grabs a bag of biscuits instead. “You could’ve said you regret it and ran with that.” 

Armie is already coming after him before he realizes that he’s moved. “You keep fucking putting words in my mouth!” He shouts, rounding the corner as he follows Timmy to the corridor to his room. “I’m worried about you because I know our situation-” 

When a bag of biscuits hits him on the chest, Armie shuts up. Timmy holds it there and presses down, the biscuits cracking loudly in the process. 

“Armie, you’re having a gay panic. Leave me out of it. I’ve had mine at thirteen.” Timmy holds his gaze for a moment before stepping away and going straight into his room. 

Disoriented, Armie blurts “Your coffee.” 

Timmy’s hand is already on the doorknob when he stops, mentally regrouping then clicks his tongue loudly. “You know, if I could, I would’ve flung you out the balcony.” 

“This is my house.”

“I don’t fucking care.” 

At least Timmy turns around to go back to the kitchen, but he makes sure to throw another glare at Armie when he passes by. 

They’re kind of in the middle of a fight, yet at the same time this is just what a discussion looks like if one would compare it to all the others that they’ve had. Armie wouldn’t say they’re angry at each other, but they notoriously get on each other’s nerves, so this is probably something they’ve been brushing under the rug in the weeks that they’re sort of getting along and it’s now blowing up to their face. 

“God,” Timmy complains loudly, dragging out the word and looking up to the ceiling. “You think so loud.” 

Armie stares at the back of his head, scowling. “You’re not even looking at me.” 

“I know exactly what gay panic is like. I can sense it.” 

“I don’t think you should label me.” 

“Then please get your shit together.” 

Armie throws his hands in the air. “What do you want me to say?” 

“Why are you asking me?” Timmy finally turns around. “I was going to go back to my room and just curl up. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“What’s there to talk about?” 

“Then shut up.” 

“Actually, on second thought-” 

“You are.” Timmy says suddenly. “You are definitely gayer than you think. No straight person is ever this indecisive.” 

Armie frowns disapprovingly. “I don’t think that’s a good judgment.” 

“Alright then,” Timmy replies, setting his mug down as the coffee machine turns off. “Would you fuck me?” 

The question is met with a stretch of silence as Armie goes through three phases of breaking down mentally. Timmy doesn’t even spare him another crumb of mercy when he arranges his shirt to the front, then twists side by side to give Armie something to consider. He walks to stand as close as he can without physically touching, then pokes Armie on the tip of the nose with his index finger. 

“You’re gay.” 

Armie’s hand shoots out to grab Timmy by the wrist as he steps aside, but then Timmy uses his free hand to grab the neckline of his shirt and uses it to pull him across the kitchen and towards his bedroom. When Armie tried to stop him from walking away, this isn’t exactly what he had in mind. Maybe some more protesting. Maybe a longer discussion. What he gets is a surprise display of strength from Timmy who hasn’t let go of his shirt, their size difference forcing Armie to bend down a bit, then the off balance making it easy to get thrown on the bed. 

“Are we consenting adults?” Timmy asks as he stands over him from the foot of the bed. 

Armie can only nod, propped up on his elbow and looking up at the guy. 

“Good,” he says, then takes his shirt off. “Then let’s find out.” 

Basically, it’s how Armie finds out that Timmy is a goddamn animal in bed. He literally dominates the entire time, edging Armie until he keens and shouts, only to withdraw all contact and put on a show of touching and playing with himself. The voice of reason in Armie’s head is in a riot the entire time. It would probably help him a lot to heed it once in a while, but unfortunately it’s his other head that’s in charge at the moment, and it’s telling him to let Timmy take this where he wants, so they can ‘find out’ as he furiously put it. 

“So what do you want to do to me?” Timmy asks as he lies on top of Armie, stretching then flipping them over so he’s the one lying on the bed. 

Armie plants his hands on each side of his face, hovering. “Honestly, I didn’t think this far.” 

Timmy snorts. “We could stop,” he suggests.

“Stop? After you almost made me blow my load three times?” Armie uses the pause to simply take him in, his hand moving on its own accord to cup Timmy’s face and trace his lips with his fingers. “I wanna go all the way,” he adds, though he purposefully doesn’t try to hide how unsure he is about it. 

“So the first time you verbalize _exactly_ what you want is when you want to dick me down.” Timmy remarks as he reaches for his bedside table, pulling at the drawer. “That’s a little gay.” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

Armie really would’ve preferred if Timmy stops with enumerating the things that he should reconsider the next time he thinks he’s straight, but no. He makes an entire list of it as they go. He also has no concept of timing, as he would just drop them whenever it occurs to him, like when Armie is in the middle of literally worshipping his body, kissing his neck and stroking his torso, only for Timmy to quip like it’s the only way to nirvana.

“Notice how you’re not grabbing for tits?”

In retaliation, Armie pinches his nipple and twists it. Timmy yelps then whimpers.

“You think you can hurt me? My only limit in sex is that I don’t die.” 

Armie actually bursts out laughing, pushing at him as he falls on his side on the bed. “Dude what the fuck?” 

Timmy is smiling too as he pushes the lube to him. “Get to work, slightly gay bro.” 

Armie accepts it, still laughing as he gets back up to comply, then realizes he doesn’t know what to do at this point. 

“Not another gay crisis!”

“I don’t know how to proceed!” 

Maybe the steps that follow should’ve been educational, but Armie’s so close to busting a nut the entire time. Professionally, Timmy is a performer, which should’ve warned Armie beforehand, but he’s still on a streak of severely lacking foresight so when he has to watch Timmy prep himself it’s an absolute sensory overload. It doesn’t help that he’s so bold about it too, though clearly Timmy isn’t looking to be timid at all. He takes Armie’s hand and encourages him to touch, to feel his way around his body, to explore and find out what he likes. 

“Why is it clean?” Armie asks, two fingers knuckles deep in his hole. 

“I have - ah, fuck!” Timmy breathes out, his eyes tightly shut. “-developed good eating habits,” he finishes, barely getting the words out. 

“The fruits and popcorn?!” 

“Water, actually. Bottom life, you wouldn’t survive it.” 

Was that a threat? There’s an undertone to it that alerts an unfried part of Armie’s brain that it could be a threat, but he can’t fully categorize it as one when it also means he could be sleeping with Timmy again in the future. Honestly, Armie could see it; Timmy as a top. He just takes control like it’s his business. 

“Are you doing math in your head right now so you don’t come?” Timmy asks, dislodging from him then lying down on the bed. 

Armie follows him, instinctively positioning between his legs and lifting them. “What gave me away?” 

“The finger movements in my ass.” 

Armie laughs and pinches his inner thigh, then pulls him so he can slide in. 

It’s familiar yet different at the same time. Armie may not be that experienced in gay sex, but he’s gone down this road a couple of times and knows that the tight squeeze will take some time to build a rhythm with. Timmy doesn’t mind at all, and for the first time spilling some praises out of his mouth as Armie allows him some time to adjust before trying to move. He’s also blessedly vocal in bed, so there’s a clear line of communication between them as they try to figure out their movements.

“Shit! Shit-” Timmy grasps at Armie’s biceps, his nails digging into his skin. “Do that again,” he tilts his hips up, then his head falls back and his eyes roll into his head when Armie complies. 

That’s fucking gorgeous. Pleasure looks good on him, so Armie makes it his mission to find every which way to get that reaction every single time. It’s not that hard when Timmy doesn’t ever shut up, and he’s finally all about sex talk instead of his regularly scheduled god forsaken one-liners. 

Because he might have ruled the world and Armie just doesn’t know it, Timmy comes when he wants and gets himself off just like that. Armie huffs, but he’s too taken by the sight to actually act resentful over it. Maybe a little payback though, with the full knowledge that Timmy is still immensely sensitive at the moment, he pulls out and takes his cock in his mouth, sucking enthusiastically while he slides his fingers back in. 

“Ah, fucking hell! Wait - oh my God!” 

Armie comes from jacking himself off with a mouthful of dick and knuckles deep in his ass. 

“So,” Armie comes off the bed to find something to wipe them with. “Good talk.” 

“Yeah, six feet apart next time so it’s no-homo.” 

God, he’s so fucking crazy and for _no_ reason. 

Even so, Armie still maintains what he could do to save face, which includes cleaning them up and making breakfast. The coffee is so long forgotten that he doesn’t even attempt saving it, dumping in the sink and starting a fresh batch. Timmy gets out of the room while he’s cooking, pleasantly surprised and happily teasing him about it. Armie doesn’t mind. He’s a good lay. 

If anyone has told Armie two months ago that the key to cohabiting in harmony with Timmy would mean that they have to be fuck-buddies, he honestly wouldn’t know what he’ll do. It’s hard to even consider it back then, given that they cannot stand just the barest sight of each other. Now that he’s trying it real time, it really does work. It’s not like it’s all they do, but sometimes, it’s the perfect solution. Like when they bicker. That’s one thing, because Armie is annoying and Timmy is a thoughtless little shit. As anyone would very quickly guess, it’s Timmy who did it first. 

They happen upon each other in the kitchen, Armie doing the dishes while Timmy is taking some bowls from his room to the sink. It’s generally annoying when someone adds more to the pile, and Armie just snaps that he should do them in another batch. To be fair, nobody is asking him to wash them, and maybe he just feels like lashing out. 

“Dude, chill. I was just taking out my dishes.” Timmy rolls his eyes, leaving the bowls on the counter. 

Armie closes the tap to glare at him. “Don’t fucking leave these here.” 

“You’re right there. What do you want me to do?” 

“Just an idea, but maybe clean them immediately after use.” 

Timmy crowds into him and puts the bowl in the sink. Armie’s irritation flares and he puts his thumb to stop the water, giving just a millimeter of space so the water could escape and spray everywhere. It takes a couple of seconds because Timmy releases the bowls and just stands there, but when he turns he manhandles Armie and the next thing he knows Timmy is sucking his dick with one finger buried deep in his ass. 

So yeah. They don’t really fight anymore in the following days. Well, they do, but they sort of forget about it pretty quickly because they get to a different… activity. One may say that they have found a more effective method of negotiating. 

“Armie,” Timmy calls as he walks out from the house and towards the pool, dressed in an oversized sweater and shorts. He stops by the edge, looking down. 

“Yeah?” Armie swims a little closer, curious. 

“Let’s have sex.” 

“Now?”

“Yeah, do you have work?” 

“No,” 

“Come on, let’s go now.” 

Sometimes it’s just like that. No fuss, which is great, and Armie is definitely down for it. It’s also unexpectedly very refreshing, because there’s no dance that Armie needs to guess the steps to. He could come up from behind Timmy and start kissing his neck and it’s a go. He could be chilling on the couch when Timmy finds him and he’ll slide down on his knees between his legs. It’s easy and simple. 

No matter how much they bicker even during sex, Armie has realized pretty soon into their arrangement that they’re sexually compatible. Maybe just ignore the fact that Armie wouldn’t have guessed he swings that way. Otherwise, it’s pretty clear, and they’re so easily turned by each other that they’ve gone at it from the poolside - which, dear God, but Timmy is a kinky son of a bitch - to the living room, the kitchen, the dining area that nobody even goes to, and most comfortably, Timmy’s bedroom. 

It doesn’t mean they can’t hang out without it leading to sex. In fact, they do more things together now, like preparing meals, eating, even working in the same space. Armie should’ve considered that long ago, to be honest. It’s relaxing to just be around Timmy when he’s doing music. 

“What do you really want to do?” Armie asks as he finishes his work, turning to the side where Timmy sits beside him. 

“Like, career-wise?” Timmy responds, pausing his editing. 

Armie shrugs. 

“I want to make music, like your regular basic bitch.” Timmy replies, jaded. 

“Why do you say it like that?” Armie puts his laptop away and drinks from his water bottle on the end table. “You’re insanely talented.” 

There’s a light wince then a sad smile before Timmy answers. “Remember the work I stayed behind for?” He looks at Armie and waits for him to nod before continuing. “It’s now officially a door closed on my face.”

Armie gets a sinking feeling in his guts, sympathetic but more importantly affected by seeing him visibly upset. “Shit man, sorry about that.”

“Well, I did tell you the industry is just like that.” Timmy puts his own laptop away, sighing heavily. “I just recently got the news, too. This morning, actually. You’re the first person I told because I thought it’ll make me feel worse when I tell someone else about it.” 

“Did it?” 

“No, it didn’t.” 

Of all things, Armie wouldn’t have counted on Timmy to reach forward and hug him, climbing his lap. 

“It made me feel a lot better, to be honest.” Timmy pulls away slightly and kisses him on the cheek, then hooks his chin back on his shoulder. 

The way Armie’s heart jumped almost led him to say that he feels the same, but thinks the better of it and settles with something that feels safer. “I’m glad.” 

When Timmy squeezes him in his embrace, Armie doesn’t miss a beat and returns it. 

“Do you have a deadline?” Armie asks when they pull away, checking his own and finding he can push it back. 

Timmy cocks his head to the side, intrigued, but shakes his head in response. 

“Let’s go. Bring the guitar.” Armie says, standing up and nodding to the other couch where the instrument is lying on. 

“Where?” Timmy asks but follows anyway. 

“You’ll see.” 

Timmy watches him the entire time, following him around the house as Armie refills his water bottle and takes his wallet and keys. Technically, they’re allowed to go out, provided that they practice social distancing. They just don’t bother because of one reason or another, usually their work or the mess they’ll find outside. 

On their way, Armie stops by a drive-thru and gets them Mexican food. Timmy is still not asking anything, but he gets the idea somehow. It’s quite a drive, but thankfully not as dragging as it usually is because there aren’t many cars around. To pass the time, Timmy puts on a song and sings, rolling the windows down and sticking his head out.

“Where are we?” Timmy finally asks when they stop to park under a tree. 

Armie takes all their takeouts and waits for Timmy to get the guitar, then nods to the uphill. It’s quite a climb, but not dangerously steep or anything. It just drags on quite a while, passing by a massive property currently in the market. 

“That house used to be ours, but we didn’t live in it longer than five years, I think.” Armie tells him, pausing when they’ve walked a distance past the house. “It’s Spanish colonial or Mediterranean, I’m not sure; which was what my mother wanted. You know, like a little suburban, posh family life. My dad almost never stayed at home. We sold it after Viktor went off to college.” 

Timmy steps closer to his side, staring at the house. “It’s overrated, get over it.” 

Armie guffaws, shaking his head, but when he turns finds Timmy looking at him with a kind smile. They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, and Armie drops a kiss to the top of his head, feeling Timmy smile against his jaw. He likes that they can cheer each other up now. It’s a delightful development. 

Another reason why their mother loved this property was because it’s a very short walk to the cliffside that overlooks the sea. Armie settles them there, flopping down on the grass. Timmy stands a while longer, admiring the view with open mouth and wide eyes. Armie allows him all the time he wants to spend gawking, and in turn he just leans back on his arms and stretches his legs, enjoying the moment and the warm feeling in his chest. 

They eat and chat, their feet touching as they sit face to face. This time, Timmy opens up about his own life, talking about his summers in a small town near Lyon in France. The way he tells it is dreamy and hilarious, because apparently they have a lot of broken circuits in the old house, but it has a lot of natural light and sits on a massive land. It’s only fun until he has to walk to the bathroom in the middle of the night and accidentally strikes his sister because he thinks she’s an apparition. 

For the first time, Armie gets convinced to play the guitar. He can carry out a song, but he doesn’t have the same skill and talent that Timmy has when he uses it. The latter part of the day they spend by playing music and singing obnoxiously. Timmy even teaches him a couple of new things, and corrected some habits Armie developed because he pretty much learned guitar in his room out of boredom.

They return to the house after sunset and in much better spirits than they initially left with. Once they’ve put everything away, Timmy suddenly cups his face and turns it towards him, then crosses both arms behind his head to pull him down for a kiss. Armie staggers, his head blanking momentarily with the way that Timmy is taking control, pressing himself against the wall and letting Armie crowd into him. 

It’s not something that they’ve done before, but perhaps bound to happen soon as they’ve been at this for a while now. Armie takes Timmy upstairs in his room, stopping to kiss and grope him at almost every corner, then stripping frantically once they make it inside. It’s new, not for the lack of bickering or jabs, but because they keep laughing and giggling while they roll around the bed, making out and touching everywhere. 

Timmy, bless his soul, actually slipped lube in his pocket before they left, because apparently he knows Armie better than he knows himself now and counts on him to take him on a drive just to have sex. They spend another considerable amount of time laughing and teasing about it, even until Armie pushes inside and they groan together. It’s new, because they’ve finally shaken off their urge to simply scratch an itch during sex and now truly get to enjoy it as it is. Timmy is still his same, grabby old self, and Armie still lets him take them where he pleases. It makes for a good dynamic, and Armie gets off on seeing Timmy seek and take pleasure. 

“Get us a towel.” Timmy says as he catches Armie when he collapses on top of him, petting his hair. 

Armie grumbles, his brain too knotted and hazy. “I did _everything,_ man.” 

“Then do that one more thing, go on.” 

“I can’t! My legs are dead.” 

“There’s spunk drying on our belly.” 

“So? You said you didn’t have nut allergy.” 

It takes a couple of minutes because Armie’s legs feel like jelly and the hair stroking is pretty nice, but he gets up anyway, taking a cloth and running it under the tap to dampen it, then returns to the bed where Timmy welcomes him with open arms. 

It also becomes the first time they wake up next to each other in the same bed the next day, but nobody will hear a word of complaint from Armie. Not when he gets his dick sucked first thing in the morning. They don’t get up until nearly lunch, slipping in and out of consciousness, cuddled together until their hunger feels too insistent to ignore. 

They resume their normal routine of making meals and eating and working and playing, except they’re comfortably doing them together. Armie is so used to the low humming of a song or soft plucking of the guitar while he’s working that he immediately notices when Timmy isn’t around him. Since getting turned down, Timmy is more focused on expanding his portfolio and submitting shots to agencies instead. It’s always useful to have Armie around to fix the lighting or the camera and whatnot, but at the same time counterproductive when he initiates sex and all the preparations go down the drain. 

Armie likes the no-fuss, uncomplicated approach that they enforce. If there ever is a true friends with benefits situation in his life, this would be it. Sure, he’s attempted it before, but it’s a fucking disaster. Maybe it’s because Timmy’s also a guy and they still share the same line of thinking, but Armie is definitely grateful that for once he’s not worrying himself whether he’s messing up or not. They have sex, and they also hangout and joke around. It all works out. 

“Nick doesn’t ask for your pictures anymore.” Armie snorts as he exchanges messages with his friends. 

Timmy smirks, stretching across the couch. “It’s been nearly three months, man.” 

“The United States suddenly has one of the weakest passports in the world.” Armie remarks, shaking his head. “A lot of Europe and Asia are getting by much better than us.” 

“Yeah, that’s why my dad sort of wishes that we flew to France before shit hits the fan.” Timmy takes the bowl on the coffee table and eats some sliced fruits. “Flights will be back on by next week though. I should be able to book for New York by then.” 

Armie’s brows fly to his hairline, surprised over the development. “That’s good. Will you still fly to France?” 

“Nah,” Timmy replies with a regretful shake of his head. “Too much hassle at this point. And my mom wouldn’t want to.” 

“I should probably check on Viktor. Maybe get him to fly here when you leave.” 

“How’s he with your mom?” 

“Dude,” Armie’s laughter is already bubbling in his chest. “Our mom tried to exorcise him when she saw porn in the browser history.” 

Because he got reminded to do it, Armie snaps a photo of Timmy later that night while they lie together, obviously not putting enough thought into what he’s doing just so he can gloat to Nick. 

_To: Nick_

_  
_

_To: Nick_

_Still alive, fyi_

Armie collapses on his side of the bed, chatting listlessly about groceries or something. 

_From: Nick_

_Why is he in your bed?_

Armie startles when he gets flicked on the ear. 

“Why do you look like you’re back to a gay panic?” Timmy rolls on his stomach, staring at him. 

“Because I sort of am,” Armie answers with a resigned sigh. “I took a picture of you and sent it to Nick.” 

Timmy snorts. “I’m in your bed.” 

“Well, whatever.” 

“You’re not gonna have a meltdown?” 

Armie looks at him, amused. “Do you want to keep it a secret?” 

Timmy falls back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t really care if they knew or not. You’re the one with the rep.” 

“And the rep is?” Armie urges, turning on his side and propping his head up with his elbow. 

Putting his palms up side by side in the air, Timmy parts them to the opposite directions to make an imaginary rainbow as he says “Heterosexual,” 

Armie pulls a pillow and smacks it on his face. “Dude, I ate your ass.” 

_To: Nick_

_Who knows?_

Armie throws his phone away and tackles Timmy on the bed instead, ignoring it as it buzzes on the rug where it landed. He’d rather make out with Timmy and get his dick sucked or something, thank you very much. 

When Timmy said that his only limit in sex is that he doesn’t die, Armie starts to fear that he well and truly means it. They’re out together in the lawn, fussing over the hanging plants that Timmy accidentally knocked off when he was playing with the soccer ball. It’s an innocent project honestly, which spirals into a kinky scene in his bedroom that took up half of their day. Apparently, Timmy thinks it’s hot that he’s familiar with knots. Armie doesn’t even have a problem showing him just how much he knows. 

“What’s your color?” 

“Pink, like the tip of my dick because you won’t suck it.” 

Timmy is tied up in ropes, his arms and feet bound together as he kneels in the middle of the bed. Armie gets the hang of it eventually. He’s a bratty fucking sub, and he’ll continue to quip the shit out of their scene if it’s the last thing he does. 

“Do you have a daddy kink?” Timmy asks, blindfolded and flushing everywhere. 

“Please don’t, I want kids in the future.” 

“Ooh, fuck me daddy.” 

“You’re gonna kill this fucking boner.” 

“Ugh, fine. How about sir?” 

“Sir is fine.” 

“You wish, dickhead.” 

Armie flips him over, then slaps his ass hard. “You fucking bastard.” 

“Degradation is okay, too.” 

“What even isn’t?” 

“Don’t kill me, duh.” 

So bondage gets added to their very colorful, highly exciting sex life. They negotiate it better and better every time, especially on Armie’s insistence, no matter how much Timmy says that he’s down for literally anything. Armie knows better than to trust that, so he sets some hard limits of his own. Timmy doesn’t even mind, citing that he’ll be the sub anyway. It’ll be all up to Armie to give. 

“How about aftercare?” Armie asks one morning as they brush their teeth side by side in his en suite. 

Timmy bends down and spits, then wipes his mouth. “Ten thousand dollars is fine.” 

Armie throws the towel to his face, laughing. 

They’ve also given up sleeping in different bedrooms. It’s not something that happened officially. They just developed the habit of going to bed together, even if it doesn’t always end in sex. For that, Timmy is nearly in his clothes half the time, unless he has to shoot or record. He claims it’s more comfortable anyway. Armie lets him do what he wants, as he always does. 

It’s so easy to forget that they’re essentially just passing the time until travel restrictions lift when their days are occupied so magnificently by explosive sex. It feels like a sudden splash of cold water when Timmy announces to him that flights will be back on and he’s looking to get one. His first instinct is to celebrate with him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and laughing when Timmy begins to enumerate the god-awful things in New York that he now can’t wait to see again. 

Soon after, a call comes in from his family, and Armie doesn’t even bother taking himself out of the room. His parents begin thanking him for letting Timmy stay with him, Pauline joking and jabbing at his brother’s expense especially because he leaves a trail of popcorn in the house; a trademark of his, apparently. Armie talks and listens to them the entire time, happy enough to be included in their little commotion. 

It’s followed immediately by Viktor’s message to him, begging to be saved. It’s a fun night overall, especially with the promise of family reunions very soon. His brother doesn’t even think twice about taking him up on his offer to stay with him for the rest of the quarantine period. Anything is better than to be locked in social isolation with your mother, who disapproves the majority of their lifestyle to begin with. Their father also said that he’ll drop by L.A before he flies to Canada, and at that point no one really bothers to keep track of where Michael decides to go. 

Yet, it all happened too fast. _That_ was the disorienting part. It’s both a gift and a curse that they can’t tell time anymore, because Armie doesn’t even dwell on it until he passes by one night and finds Timmy in the guest room - his room - packing his stuff. It feels like a rock has been dropped in his guts, shocked at the reminder, but he goes in thoughtlessly and helps him get ready. 

“You know, I’m surprised you don’t have a sex toy with you.” Armie quips absently, folding some trousers. 

Timmy snorts loudly. “Dude, _you_ don’t have toys and it’s your house.” 

“In my defense, I’m happy with the ropes.” 

“You’re the vanilla of BDSM.” 

“No, asshole. You’re a goddamn freak.” 

Timmy falls over, laughing 

On the very last day, Timmy brings his bags out in the living room, leaving them there so he can easily fetch them when he needs to leave the following day. They slept in Timmy’s bedroom since there’s so much to put away, and it messes up a huge part of Armie when he sees the room cleared first thing when he wakes up. To his chagrin, it doesn’t go away even when they had sex at around lunch, or worked together in the afternoon, or swam around until sunset. He gets a feeling that Timmy can tell, because he can always tell, but this time chooses not to say anything. That’s good, because Armie honestly wouldn’t know what to say. 

It’s not that he wants to keep them locked in there together. It’s just overall a shock. It’s like going at sixty then suddenly back to zero in an instant, and the lack of progression is really throwing him off. 

“Where are you going?” Timmy asks as he gets up in the middle of the movie. 

Armie looks around, feeling awkward but doesn’t lie either. “I don’t really feel that good. I’m going to bed.” 

Timmy shrugs and lets him go. When he sees the bags packed behind the couch, his chest tightens, but he starts to condition himself to thinking that Timmy won’t be around anymore so he can give himself a little help with the transition. It’s not even a bad thing, and he’s happy that Timmy will get to be with his family soon. Even he will be with his brother once the flights get back. They really did get carried away there, but who wouldn’t be? It was a whole lot of fun. 

Weirdly enough, Armie doesn’t really expect Timmy to sleep in his bedroom, so it’s a surprise when his door opens hours after he leaves the living room. It’s nearly eleven, and he thought Timmy would’ve been asleep by now considering his flight is early, as far as he knows. Armie gets up on his elbows, expectant, and through the dark room he makes out the figure of Timmy as he slowly sheds his clothes, approaching the bed.

They don’t speak, which isn’t new, but they’re never this silent before either. Armie welcomes Timmy as he climbs over him, accepts every kiss and touch, returns them. They’ve had crazier sex before, some definitely much hotter and mindblowing, but never in this level of passion. Armie finds it’s exactly what he needs. Timmy gives it, fully and gloriously. Easily, it’s got to be the most breathtaking they’ve ever done together. 

It helps. The next day, Armie feels like the weight has settled, and he’s come to terms with the fact that their time is over. It’s no longer heavy, and he doesn’t feel defensive about it anymore, either. He drives Timmy to the airport, more cheerful than he thought he’d be. 

“I’m gonna miss you, honestly.” Armie tells him casually, helping him with his bags. 

Timmy actually flinches, surprised. He looks up to him. “Your brother will be there in a few, so make sure to clean everything.” 

Armie cusses him and shoves him away, laughing. “You’re such a goddamn asshole.” 

Laughing, Timmy walks back to his side and burrows his head into his chest. “I’d miss you too, though. I think it’d take some time before I find someone who can throw me in the air and dick me down.” 

“Dude, chill. You’ll be with your parents.” 

“I would’ve called you daddy if you let me. You can’t hurt me.” 

Armie laughs out loud again, incredulous over the gall of the guy. They don’t make a big deal out of it, like he expects. They say goodbyes and exchange hugs, then Timmy goes off on his way. Armie watches him from a distance, waving when their eyes would meet, chuckling lightly as everything turns into a mess from the trolley to the headphones slipping to his temples. It’s tradition by now, so Armie takes out his phone, snaps a photo, and sends it to Nick. 

_To: Nick_

_He’s alive. No one can frame me from here onwards._

_Fron: Nick_

_Damn. I didn’t think you two would make it._

Armie snorts. He agrees, though. When he looks up again, Timmy’s gone. He wonders how long he’d nurse that dull ache in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more left! I'll probably lay off writing for a while after this. University has picked up again so there goes. Thanks everyone!
> 
> P.S Lmfao if you opened this when I freshly updated and saw my unedited format, no you didn't <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So this last chapter is a lot longer than the rest and definitely a lot more somber, because I really bottled them all up all this time and now the dam is broken and the valley flooded... a bit. So yeah, and a bonus chapter just because!

It’s going to take Viktor a couple more days before getting to L.A, which leaves Armie to be in total isolation for the first time since the pandemic hit. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

The moment he returns to his house, empty and silent, Armie fully feels awful. There’s no other way he could put it but like that, and he doesn’t even bother denying it. They had a pretty great time, and he’s allowed to sulk over having that cut short even though it’s totally meant to happen and he’s entitled to nothing. That’s just how he feels and that’s fine. It’s not like he’s going to do anything about it. 

_ From: T _

_ I’m a nervous flyer  _

Armie smiles at the message, his mind automatically supplying him with the image of Timmy with all his nervous ticks. 

_ To: T  _

_ You should be _

_ To: T  _

_ Do you know how fast diseases spread in planes?  _

_ From: T _

_ Guess I’ll die  _

Good to know that he’s not any less of a crackhead than Armie remembers. They keep up a stream of texts until Timmy boards, but it’s pretty obvious that he’s just looking to shake off the fright. Armie doesn’t mind. For once, Timmy actually appears scared of something because his unquestioning readiness during sex is borderline worrying. He’s not obliged to, but Armie can’t deny that there’s a part of him that expected them to keep in touch after. It’s not completely let down, because Timmy does text him again when he arrives later that night, but it’s only a perfunctory thank you message, and Armie feels dismissed by the casualness of it. 

It’s not a big deal. Armie just isn’t all that good in sudden changes, is all. It’ll probably help that Timmy cleared out his presence from his house, apart from the leftover grocery that will be gone pretty soon because they’re mostly fruits. Apart from that, Armie will pick his life up back to its old routine. Besides, his brother would be here soon, which would be a lot of fun and definitely a lot of alcohol. Viktor has described himself to be in a constant state of shock and his inability to respond accordingly allows him to function enough to live through the months of lockdown with their mother. All the sympathies to him. Meanwhile, Armie spent the last couple of weeks having fantastic sex and hearing good music. 

When Armie goes to bed that night, the weight in his gut before Timmy leaves feels way heavier. They didn’t even make the bed, so the mess of blankets and pillows where they were lying on are still where they left it. Armie sighs, walks forward and starts to arrange them on the headboard, then slips under his covers. When he dreams of Timmy, he’ll say it’s only because his sheets still smell like him. It’s not a good memory to wake up to. If anything, it’s disorienting and irritating. Armie slowly opens his eyes, aware that Timmy won’t be there, but coming from sleep where his brain inconveniently plays him their usual day of playing around the house and Timmy being an asshole for shits and giggles. 

_ To: Viktor  _

_ How’s it going? _

Armie goes to his en suite and splashes his face with cold water, scowling at his reflection, then leaves to prepare for a morning workout. 

_ From: Viktor  _

_ Mom is stalling  _

_ From: Viktor _

_ She’s asking why don’t you just join us  _

The suggestion makes Armie shudder. He loves his mother, truly, but he also cannot stand her religious fanaticism. It’s just overall unhealthy and quite honestly a misplaced fixation following the divorce. It was hard on them but good for Armie and Viktor. They’re reluctant roommates at best, and they get so much secondhand embarrassment from being around them. 

_ To: Viktor  _

_ Tell her literally anything except agreeing  _

Armie picks his day up as he usually would, which makes it increasingly clear that he really hasn’t adjusted to it yet. On days that Timmy doesn’t run around in the yard, he uses the treadmill. He doesn’t really lift weights, but he uses the bars often and he’s strong enough to lift his entire body weight with ease. One other annoying thing about Timmy is his general mess, which greets Armie first thing when he opens the coffee machine and finds old, stale grounds from the day before. He huffs, but he can’t really bring himself to be annoyed by it. 

Taking his phone out, Armie snaps it and intends to send it to Timmy, then he hesitates and overthinks, so he deletes the draft and resumes with his day. 

It’s only then that it starts to occur to him just how integrated their lives have been during quarantine. Armie opens his fridge and finds an overwhelming amount of fruits that he never really buys for himself, then to his pantry where there’s enough popcorn kernels to host a movie night for ten people. He catches himself taking out ingredients enough for two people, as there had been days where it’s up to him to make Timmy consume something else than his usual diet. He returns the extra slices of bread and eggs, then makes a mental note that he can pick that habit up again when his brother gets there. 

The guitar stays on the sofa where Timmy left it. Armie doesn’t touch it at all, though he does spend a couple of moments to stare at it each time it passes by his line of sight. Armie knows he’ll likely never hear it played the way Timmy does, and that’s a shame. For this reason, he’ll lay off of his own instrument until he’s comfortable enough to hear his own, mediocre, self-taught method. 

Working is fine. It takes up all his brain power and shutting it down by the end of the day. It’s only a little weird when he got called out for humming a song during a conference call, but he can live with that one slip. The one that takes the cake is when Armie feels horny and no one to turn to. He jacks off before going to bed, and there’s hardly any pleasure to it when he really just wants to rub one out. 

The following days are just straight up annoying. The sudden stop really spikes his sexual frustration, then his work just has to add to it because travel restrictions are slowly getting lifted and operations are looking to go back. Michael really hounds on him the moment there’s a flicker of green light, and Armie is just up the wall by his balls trying to put everything together and screaming every twenty minutes. 

The complete isolation is also taking a toll on him, and it’s not even halfway through the week. Sure, he calls his brother and talks to his parents, sometimes also with Nick and Tyler, but it’s driving him to the very edge that he literally doesn’t interact with anyone even in just a couple of days. He’s considered calling up some of his booty calls, but ends up putting it off for one reason or another. Instead, he’s asked his friends to come over, or if he could, but the schedules don’t line up. A lot of them are moving now as well. If he drafted more than a couple of messages to Timmy and deleted them, that’s on him. The guy hasn’t reached out either, and he wouldn’t want to be the one to create complications because he’s bored. So good for them. Armie, on the other hand, is just left to wait until his brother arrives and they can sulk together and overwork in their father’s company. 

Quarantine is really putting life into perspective. Armie is getting more and more convinced that this simply isn’t worth it and he should just sell everything and move to a cabin in The Alps and preserve his own meat and make his own cheese. It could also mean that quarantine has sort of broken a lot of his brain functions, but who’s to say? 

When Viktor calls him to pick him up at the airport one afternoon, Armie drops everything and goes to meet his brother. It goes exactly how he thought it would. Viktor vents out all his frustration from living with their mother for three months over a pile of junk food and a ton of beer. There’s a series playing as a background noise while they whine about everything. Viktor gets a hold of his iPad and sees all the shit their father put him through in the company. They whine about that, too. 

They pass out in the living room in the middle of the rubble of junk food and beer bottles. Armie is vaguely aware of slipping in and out of consciousness, hearing a bit of fumbling when Viktor would grumble or get up to pee, or when he himself grumbles and gets up to pee. The next day, they order takeouts and resume acting like the biggest losers they know on his living room floor, cursing at everything as they work. 

“So you really just work and kill time?” Viktor asks as they go to the pool table, beer in hand. 

Well, and some other thing, but his little brother doesn’t need that specified. “Yeah, sometimes go out for groceries but getting it delivered seems fine.” 

“Damn, so you’re literally locked up here with that skinny dude?” 

“Uh-huh,” 

Armie isn’t really all that shy about his sex life, but he somehow can’t help the way his face heats up over it. He doesn’t mind his brother finding out if it comes down to it, and he also doesn’t care, but he inexplicably gets meek over it and that’s startling. Until he feels like he can finally manage, he’ll steer the conversation away from it. It really doesn’t help all that much that Timmy’s a goddamn freak in bed. The memories aren’t really helping. 

Of course, things just don’t go his way. Armie initially thought that there’s not much in the house that would indicate Timmy's presence, but Viktor catches on pretty quickly anyway. It starts naturally with his unusually stocked fridge filled with various fruits that he still hasn’t finished nearly a week after Timmy’s departure. Armie doesn’t mind that one, and he tells Viktor the truth because it’s not a big deal. The second one, which he himself didn’t even notice, is the fact that he makes popcorn and snacks on it out of habit. 

“Popcorn again?” Viktor eyes him as he returns to the bar, carrying a fresh batch. 

“It’s light and easy,” Armie replies dismissively, but he can’t shake off the feeling of being caught red handed. 

Every time he would instinctively make another batch, Armie catches himself and starts second-guessing. Usually, he does it because it just makes coexisting with Timmy a lot smoother. Maybe he just got conditioned into it and now he thinks he actually likes the taste, so on certain occasions, he would listen to the panic at the back of his head and leave the popcorn alone instead. 

With Viktor hanging around, their food supply depletes pretty fast. Unlike Timmy, his brother actually eats like a proper adult, which makes the two of them constantly hounding the kitchen to eat something. One morning, Armie opens the fridge and stops dead, shocked to find one orange and a bowl of grapes left from Timmy’s last grocery haul. He can’t explain why, but it does put him off for the rest of the day. He eats the last of it, but it only leaves a hollow in his stomach that he can’t fill in no matter what he does. 

“What’s wrong?” Viktor corners him in the bar later that night and pours himself some scotch. 

“Fucking exhausted,” Armie answers, swirling his own and tipping it back. 

Viktor snorts. “You look like you got dumped, man. Is it Shannon?” 

“Who?” 

“Shannon? The girl you brought over at New Year’s - oh God, you don’t even remember her anymore.” 

Armie has to laugh, first because the assumption is ridiculous, second because Shannon? That’s some ancient history. “She was great, just not for me.” 

“Who even  _ is _ for you?” Viktor retorts with a snort, shaking his head. 

Armie knows that he’s young, therefore he’s in no rush to answer that question. It doesn’t stop his brain from giving suggestions though. That night, he dreams of Timmy again, just an ordinary morning where they would wake up tangled in their blankets and with each other, blinking slowly and smiling tenderly before they come together to trade kisses. It’s definitely happened, but dreams are dreams, and they will always have a context that you simply know when you wake up. The moment Armie opens his eyes to an empty bed and fresh sheets, his chest tightens and his panic rises a bit. He can smell Timmy in the air, can feel the ghost of his touch on his skin, can vividly recall the warmth in his chest when in his dream they wake up together and he gets a strike through the heart because it’s exactly where he wants to be. When he gets up, he catches the sight of the guitar, hears Timmy sing and play it like a montage in his head. It’s not a good way to start his day. 

It’s only halfway through the second week. Technically, that’s not too late to reconnect with Timmy, but Armie really goes on overdrive about it and decides against reaching out every single time. They had it crystal clear that it was casual, and Timmy is clearly done with it if the absolute silence on his end is anything to go by. In fact, it’s unfair that Armie would go after him like this. There’s also this unspoken part of their agreement where Timmy only considered it because he doesn’t expect any complication from Armie, because supposedly he’s straight, and they just want to get things out of their system while in a pathetic lockdown that just doesn’t improve because people are idiots and the government is letting the country burn to the ground. 

“Hey, hey!” Viktor tries and fails to get near him, so he takes another boxing glove and throws it on the back of his head. 

“Ow! What?!” Armie stops, holding his head, then the punching bag swings and hits him on the shoulder. 

“What’d this thing ever do to you, man? You’re gonna burst it.” Viktor grimaces at him but helps him up anyway. “And you’re gonna ruin your knuckles, what the fuck?” 

Armie closes his eyes, irritated but knowing better than to snap at his brother. “Frustrated,” he explains, avoiding his eyes. 

“Is it dad?” Viktor urges, worried. “I mean, he can’t be staying with us for long-” 

Armie holds up his hand at that, immensely confused. “Hold on,” he says, then starts removing the gloves to discard them on the floor. “You were saying?” 

“Dad coming by here,” Viktor clarifies. “Didn’t he tell you? He’s flying here on Friday. He said it’ll be just a couple of days though.” 

“Right, I forgot.” Armie doesn’t know it at all, and finding out this way isn’t really helping his already crisis-ridden brain. 

“Armie, seriously, what’s wrong? You look messed up.” 

“I don’t get enough sleep these days.” 

It’s not entirely a lie, but if Armie can’t put into words exactly what he’s feeling, then he won’t be saying out loud anytime soon. 

Because he doesn’t ever seem to have good things, the days that follow do not go easy on him. It starts when he catches a glimpse of the nearly empty popcorn kernel container in his pantry, which sends him in a momentary blind panic because he realizes that it’ll be the last of Timmy’s and he’s only recognizing his habitual popcorn-making as an attachment to what he has left of the guy. Which is unhealthy. Probably also creepy. Definitely weird. It still weighs him down, but he tries to brush it under the rug so he can continue functioning. 

On that same night, Armie strays to the living room and sees Viktor eating a massive batch of popcorn as he watches something from Netflix. He doesn’t have to go in his pantry to confirm. All of it is gone, and that’s probably his sign to push this thing further down until it fizzles out. Despite that, Armie still thrashes on his bed, unable to successfully drift off to sleep. There’s one more, technically, which he hasn’t bothered at all to go back to because deep down he’s a coward. It’s midnight though, and if anything, this is the safest this thing could ever be if he wants to acknowledge it. 

Armie gets up from his bed and goes to the sofa against the wall. He picks up the guitar and plucks in silently, then hears a light rustle inside. Holding it over his head, he sees a little roll of paper inside, and he shakes it until it falls through the side of the strings. 

_ Some idiot misses me, _ the piece of post-it says, and Armie has to slap a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound of his laughter. It aches, but it aches so good. He’ll figure it out, but if there ever is a time for him to man up and own it, it’s this. He’s definitely very into Timmy, and it’s not a bad thing. 

The bravery doesn’t even stay with him until the next morning. Armie wakes up nervous but with a boner. Now it’s weird to rub one out, and Timmy is definitely in there even before, but now that he’s sure of his emotional investment to the guy, he just feels like he’s violating  _ something, _ some ground rules or basic human decency and he’s not okay with that. 

“Dad will be here by tomorrow,” Viktor tells him past lunch as they work together, using Armie’s iPad for no reason and browsing through it. 

Armie curses and sighs loudly. “He’s a fucking terrorist.” 

“Call the maintenance, please. He’ll pretend to sneeze everywhere.” 

“Just call the hospital if he does. Say he has Covid-19.” 

“Dude, that’ll put  _ us _ in the hospital with him.” 

“Fuck!” 

If anything, Armie uses that as an excuse to drink, in which Viktor enthusiastically joins him in because they’re both decidedly not looking forward to living with their father. It’s even harder on him, as he’s only coming off of living with their mother, which isn’t even past two weeks ago. Armie has to laugh, and if it turns a little hysterical because of the alcohol, then that’s his business. 

At some point, Viktor orders some delivery, which turns out to be way more than the two of them can consume even if they eat it the entire day. They’re definitely a little drunk by then, and Armie is already singing dreadfully from the top of his lungs. Maybe it’s Stay by Rihanna, then slowly transitions to stupid country songs, and then finally Celine Dion so he can finish strong, but if Viktor can’t tell, then it’s all good. 

Of course, no one sabotages him the way he sabotages himself. Armie stirs from his sleep past midnight, thinking initially that he’s in another fever dream, then realizes he really is hearing Timmy sing softly near him, making his heart clench tight then drop to his stomach. It’s very much unreal, but apparently not impossible for his half-drunk mind to comprehend. 

“Timmy,” Armie grumbles sleepily, reaching his hand out to touch him and only getting the hard armest of his couch. Bleary-eyed, he struggles to open his eyes so he can take in his surroundings better, and very much to his disappointment only sees his brother looking at him with the widest his eyes could go, shocked. 

“Dude,” he says, and Armie is instantly irritated, barely suppressing the urge to snap at him. “Dude, what the hell was that?” 

Armie will  _ not _ lash out at his brother, but when his brain momentarily convinces him that Timmy is right there only for him to find Viktor holding his iPad, playing an old recording of Timmy singing that Armie’s already forgotten about, it really does the job of spiking his agitation. 

“Shut up for a second,” Armie puts a finger up in a weak attempt to stop his brother from asking more questions, his head throbbing violently. 

Viktor is really making it hard for him. He claps a hand over his mouth, then brushes his hair away. The shock is slowly getting replaced with glee, and Armie knows for a fact it’s at his expense. 

“Oh my God, you two smashed!” Viktor is laughing already, then stops and gasps. “Wait, shit, you caught feelings. Armie-” 

“Man, I swear you’d still get an answer even if you shut up for a second.” Armie snaps, fully annoyed. 

Viktor is shaking his head, torn between his surprise and urge to tease. “Aren’t you straight?” 

“Jesus Christ, here we go,” 

“No, seriously. There’s so much to unpack here.” 

Armie’s head is in his hands, propped up by his elbows on his knees. “Can we not? I’m so over this.” 

“That’s not what being over it looks like, Armie.” Viktor points out, looking a little calmer now but definitely twice as invested. “What even? So you two just-” 

“Can’t I get a friend with benefits in peace? We had pretty good tension because of the two years of never getting along and it translates well to bed, apparently.” Armie narrates in detail, in hopes of getting his brother off his back. 

Viktor looks at him funny. “You reached out for him when you thought you heard his voice. That’s not casual sex behavior. That’s really not.” 

Armie  _ knows,  _ and he doesn’t need to hear it. He doesn’t answer though, settling to throwing a glare to his brother’s direction. 

“You got the dream, didn’t you?” Viktor pries, annoyingly intrigued. 

“The what?” 

“You know what.  _ The  _ dream.” 

Armie knows what he means the first time, and it’s not helping his sanity that Viktor definitely has trouble shutting the fuck up. 

“The dream that just makes you go ‘Oh shit, it’s different.’ That one. We all get that.” 

“I asked for  _ one  _ thing and it’s for you to shut your goddamn trap. How hard is that?” 

“But you were straight!” 

Ah, so  _ this _ was what Timmy felt Armie kept going in circles. Now he understands why the guy wants to fling him out the balcony. “Viktor,” he snaps his fingers to his face three times. “Look here. Dad will be here tomorrow. Can you help me out a little?” He gestures to the amount of trash littered all across the room. 

To his credit, Viktor moves, but doesn’t stop with his panic. “Oh God, he’s gonna have a stroke if he finds out - wait, no! Mom!” 

Armie leaves the breakdown to Viktor. Personally, he’s really fucking done caring about that at this point. 

When their father arrives around afternoon the next day, most of the house is already clean, but he does extensively remark that it’s dirty everywhere. Armie will just voluntarily fling himself out the balcony if this drags on even longer. 

“Did you check the files I sent you?” Michael asks as they miraculously eat together in the dining room. 

Armie and Viktor are kicking each other under the table. 

“Both of you.” 

“Yes,”

“Well?” 

They kick each other again. 

“You two make it hard for me not to take you out of the will.” 

When they look at each other sneakily, Armie knows they’re both thinking about how he’s very much gay for his three-month lockdown roommate who’s now on the other side of the country. 

“And I truly hope Armie cleaned up well after his  _ isolation  _ for three months.” Michael says snottily, giving him a judgmental glare. 

Viktor, knowing better than their father, scowls so hard and whines. “Oh, hell no!” 

The maintenance is suddenly at their doorstep first thing in the morning. Armie definitely breaks into cold sweat and goes through every single day with Timmy, terrified that he slipped up and they’ll find one thing or another. It won’t be the first time honestly, but he’s also not looking forward to getting their father out on a stretcher because he collapsed due to possible evidence of gay sex. 

“Why are you chainsmoking all of a sudden?” Viktor comes up to his side by the pool, confused. 

“I honestly don’t know what they’ll find at this point.” Armie admits, taking another drag. 

“Dude, it can’t be that bad.” 

“Oh, it wasn’t bad for  _ me. _ We did it everywhere.” 

“Wow, I  _ totally _ needed that information. Let me just go back in and tell them to deep clean and power wash everything.” 

“Make sure dad isn’t around when you tell them!” 

“The fact that you agreed, Jesus Christ!” 

Well, he can never be too sure. 

The thing about divorced parents is that somehow, no matter how amicable the split was, they have to one up each other. Their mother is suddenly calling them at random hours during the day, telling them this and that. Armie and Viktor are no longer children who desperately want their parents’ time and affection. They can very much tell when they’re simply going at odds with one another, and they’re somehow caught in the middle of it. 

If they’re impatient over the behavior, Michael even more so. He’s such a stern man in general, but Armie is already convinced that their father barely has an emotional range that can fill a teaspoon. He really fully doubts it. The weekend isn’t even through yet when he’s announcing that he’ll be flying out again. 

“Where would you go?” Viktor asks, likely trying to be polite. 

Michael sips some scotch and looks through his schedule. “New York, then Edinburgh.” 

Before Armie’s mouth could coordinate with his brain, he said “New York?” 

Viktor coughs violently to hide his laugh. 

“That’s alarming, Viktor, get that checked.” Michael eyes him suspiciously, then turns away to hopefully dodge the spray. “Yes, New York. Why?” 

“Nothing,” Armie responds too quickly, and the way his face is burning doesn’t help either. 

“Didn’t you say you need to do something there?” Viktor suddenly quips, then looks at their father expectantly. 

Armie takes his glass of water and empties it. “Not really, Viktor, thank you for your concern.” 

“The world is ending, man. What’s there to lose?” 

Armie actually stops at that, conflicted. Michael snorts. 

“Is this about a girl, Armand?” He asks with a scornful grin. 

Because Armie doesn’t get sabotaged harder than he does it to himself, he answers “It’s about a boy, actually.” 

Michael sighs. “I always had a feeling that you might be gay.” 

Armie and Viktor collectively gape at their father, stunned. 

“You said it. The world is ending. I’d die pretty soon at this rate.” 

“This isn’t about you and mom one-upping each other, is it?” 

“I’m not dying a loser, Viktor. Remember that.” 

That very same night, Armie is suddenly packing all his essentials. Viktor may be standing over him the entire time, asking the stupidest, most annoying questions, but Armie doesn’t really give him a fraction of his time. It’s definitely happening too fast, but if things don’t go well then he can just… Stay in New York or something. Surprisingly, he gets to sleep pretty easily, but only because he passed out from exhaustion. The sun isn’t even out yet when Michael wakes the entire house up, the private plane ready to depart. Viktor drives them to it, a little lost in shock but definitely enjoying himself. 

“I never thought I’d see this day  _ ever, _ but I do like it.” Viktor tells him as he gets his one bag out, kicking the door shut. “You really like this guy. Don’t overthink this.” 

Michael looks between them, looking too uninterested for someone who’s eavesdropping. “What’s the address?” 

Armie blinks, taken aback. 

“I have no idea how the company still holds with you in it.” Michael grouses, then ushers them in the plane. 

In the six something hours of flight, Armie thankfully manages to get a hold of Timmy’s address, which is ridiculously not from the guy himself. Nick gave it after Armie says that he needs to send over something and Timmy hasn’t replied yet. That feels a little wrong, and Armie knows he definitely should’ve asked Timmy directly. He could’ve saved himself so much more than just both of their times, but he also knows himself. He’d back out so fast. Knowing just how intimidated he is with Timmy, Armie might just make things worse for himself. 

Will wonders truly ever cease, but Michael doesn’t ask him about it. In fact, he barely acknowledges Armie at all. He’s rather occupied with work, meanwhile Armie is just fully in his gay panic bubble. It’s a long flight, and he should definitely do something about his nerves going haywire on him. Alcohol shouldn’t be the answer, but it’s the one most conveniently available at the moment. 

“Don’t get drunk.” Michael says without looking away from his screen. “When I got drunk, I asked Dru to marry me.” 

Armie slows down considerably with the alcohol following that alarming piece of information. It doesn’t help. In fact, he just overthinks even more. He’ll be the first to admit that this decision is made hastily. He’ll also be the first to say that it could’ve gone better than him popping up to their doorstep nearly three weeks after their time together. At the same time, Armie also doesn’t want to back down. Maybe he should slow down, but he’ll contemplate that one later when he gets Timmy’s input. He’s overall just interested in getting an answer at the end of the day, and doing it through the phone isn’t really an option for him. 

It’s around lunch time when they land, and Armie is nearly throwing up in his mouth. Michael is looking at him, a little concerned but more irritated. 

“Just get your bag driven to your flat here. Go where you need to.” Michael waves at him dismissively, gesturing to the driver to take Armie’s bag. He gets handed a face mask along the process. 

“What about you?” Armie asks, absently accepting and disoriented over their father’s lack of… negative response. 

Michael nods to another car pulling up. “I called the company. Go, and call me if you’re dumped so I can bring you to Edinburgh and meet the investors.” 

That sounds like a threat. “Is that a threat?” 

“I can abduct you so fast, boy.” 

Now  _ that  _ is a threat. 

The entire drive to Timmy’s address simply feels like a bad idea the closer he gets to it. At some point, Armie takes his phone out and tries to find Pauline Chalamet, then sees her Instagram profile with a story. 

  


_ Finally done with home quarantine! Celebrating with classical music.  _

That does it, strangely enough. Armie leaves the app and goes to his messages, composing one for Timmy with the very last bit of courage he has. 

_ To: T _

_ I’m on my way to your house  _

The reply is almost instantaneous. 

_ From: T _

_ If that’s true then you’re going to put me back to home quarantine.  _

Well, technically, that’s true. Anyone with a travel history needs to self isolate for two weeks and get tested for the virus. That’s a complication he didn’t fully consider, and now he feels really bad taking himself to Timmy’s house when he literally just finished with the protocol. 

“We’re here, sir.” The driver announces. 

Armie just stares, dumbfounded. 

“Sir?” 

“Right, yes. Can you wait for me, though? Just in case?” 

“Of course.” 

_ To: T _

_ I’m right outside _

Damn, this really feels like a terrible fucking idea. 

_ To: T _

_ Sorry?  _

It takes a while, and in those minutes Armie has contemplated more than a dozen of times to simply climb back to the car and go with his father to Scotland. A window swings up on the first floor, then from it Armie hears loud noises and a woman’s screech. He pulls out his phone, double checking if he got to the right address or he needs to report domestic violence. He gets the answer when Pauline’s head pops out, but before the two of them could react there’s a hand grabbing her by the hair then dragging her right back inside. There’s a lot going on, but Timmy finally does show his face, spends an entire half minute gaping at him, then falls to the floor, disappearing from his view. 

_ To: T _

_ Should I go?  _

The loud noises are back, and the fact that Armie catches a bunch of French yelling really tells him how hard they’re going at it. 

_ From: T _

_ No, please do come in. We’re happy to have you, some more than the rest.  _

Armie is immediately suspicious, but he can’t help his own relieved smile. 

_ From: T _

_ THAT WAS PAULINE SHE’S SO NOSY  _

Every bit of development is confusing, but Armie can’t complain when he’s the one who started the trend. 

_ From: T _

_ Come in though  _

Armie  _ really  _ didn’t think this through. Now he actually has to ring the doorbell and meet literally all of Timmy’s family, in the most distasteful fashion, empty-handed, and with literally no prior notice. 

_ From: T  _

_ I’m supposed to open the door but I sense you gay panicking.  _

Because he still can’t agree with Timmy without feeling like someone has set his butt on fire, Armie goes up to the door and rings the goddamn bell. 

“What’s going on?” Timmy is in a hoodie and jeans, the same outfit from Pauline’s Instagram story, and the swing of the door sends a whiff of air to Armie’s face. 

They allow a stretch of silence to settle after the question. Armie is thankful for it. It gives him a little room to take in exactly what he came for, and if the way the sight of him is gripping at his heart, then Armie thinks he can safely say that though he did not think this through, it doesn’t mean he wants it any less. 

“I have no idea,” Armie admits, already breathless. 

Timmy looks at him from top to bottom then says “A bit early on the lumberjack dream, are we?” 

“That is a hate crime.” 

“Not when you dress like you’re in a sleazy eighties porno.”

“How about you knowing exactly how to spot it?” 

Timmy closes his eyes as his laughter begins to rise, his shoulders shaking with it. He wipes at his face with his palm, nervously looks around before stepping away from the door to let him through. Armie goes in, his eyes anxiously scanning the space and finding the piano where Timmy was playing when Pauline took the video. He can hear voices somewhere in the house, but he thinks it’s in French so he can’t really follow what they’re saying. Timmy stands in the middle of the living room, spinning on his heels and twisting his torso. 

“So, what brought you here?” Timmy finally asks, gesturing to the couch so Armie can take a seat. 

It’s suddenly the moment of truth, and the way his trajectory hasn’t slowed down even a tad is sending him reeling. Armie takes his mask off and blows out a huge puff of air. He’s long out of steam that brought him to join his father on the plane back in L.A. 

Timmy leans against the back of the couch, his legs stretching forward in front of him as he shakes his head in amusement. “Are you here for some gay advice? Is that why you look so panicked?” 

“No?” Armie replies, then belatedly realizes it’s not completely wrong. “Well, sort of.” 

Timmy rolls his eyes at him, fond but not having it. “You could’ve texted me.” 

“I didn’t think to do it over the phone.” 

“That’s some bougie shit right there. Let me guess, you flew on your private plane?” 

“I - no.” 

“No?” 

“Yeah, it’s my dad’s.” 

Timmy laughs again. “Dude, sit down. You look like you’re expecting a firing squad.” 

Armie wrinkles his nose, taking another deep breath. 

“No? Why? Is it because our couch isn’t custom-made hand-stitched Italian leather?” 

“It - no? - what?” 

“I don’t know. I just put together the things they say over designer bags and ran with it.” 

“That’s so confusing.”

“Imagine how I feel right now.” 

Armie chuckles at that, his head dropping as he looks down on the floor. Clearly, he’s merely stalling, and he knows if he doesn’t get it out anytime soon Timmy would be over this discussion and he’ll slip through his fingertips faster than he can comprehend it. 

“Over the past weeks,” Armie finally starts, but he doesn’t dare to look up. “Did you ever - was it just me that - ah, shit.” He curses some more under his breath, his tongue getting tied up while the lump in his throat gets bigger. 

Timmy leans forward but doesn’t stand up yet. He cocks his head a little to try to get a look of his face, but Armie avoids it by turning his head to the side. 

There are pictures all across the wall of their childhood, some of Timmy’s parents and their friends and extended families, probably. It gives Armie something to distract himself with while he attempts to string his words together. 

“When you left, I thought it’s like, you know, fine. Not  _ fine,  _ it was weird that you weren’t there, but it simply didn’t go away?” Armie tells him, closing his eyes and tilting his head towards the ceiling. “And that - fuck, I literally can’t even - but you know how when we just get in the mood and just get down to it? Except that now, I get that here,” he makes a fist and slams it in the middle of his chest. 

The moment Armie looks down to meet Timmy’s eyes, his gaze lands just in time to watch the shock take over his face. 

“Okay? And it’s - I literally cannot cope. Because you’re not there - oh my God, I had a crisis because all the food you left behind were gone after Viktor and I ate them. Can you imagine?” Armie knows he’s about to set off on a tangent, simply because he’s absolutely terrified with what he’s doing so he’s just spiraling out of control. “I couldn’t touch my own goddamn guitar because I feel like it’s yours now. It took me like two fucking weeks to pick it up from the sofa where you left it and I saw your stupid fucking note and that’s when I realized I’m a little crazy about you that’s why I haven’t had peace since you left.” 

Timmy looks like he’s experiencing breathing difficulties with the way his chest is rising and falling. His eyes are also wide and he’s pale as a sheet. Clearly, this whole grand confession isn’t well received by their circulation. Armie himself feels a little deaf with the way his heart is pounding in his chest, add to that the way his stomach feels upside down that he might throw up from the smallest shove. 

“I have no idea what I’m trying to achieve by going here to say that.” Armie scratches the back of his throat, the alarms in his brain going off and telling him to flee the scene. “My driver is right outside, I can just go-” 

Apparently, that’s what startles Timmy regaining his locomotion. Suddenly, he’s up on his feet and in front of Armie, grabbing his wrist. It sends a jolt on his skin that he flinches, and when they both get flustered about it Armie realizes Timmy felt that, too. 

“I think,” Timmy begins, but pauses to clear his throat. “We should talk about this. Not here, though.” 

“Oh, right, of course. I’ll be in New York for a couple of days anyway-” 

“No, that’s not what I meant.” 

“Oh, okay,” 

“Stop thinking, oh my God! How do you make it so loud?” Timmy complains, frustrated for some reasons. “I just meant to move this discussion to my room because I know my entire family is somewhere around the house with their ears pressed on the wall!” His voice gets louder and louder as he finishes the statement, fully intending for his family to hear him expose their nosy ways. 

Armie can’t process what he feels about that, and with the way he just spilled his guts everywhere he also probably shouldn’t. “Should I go say hi? I don’t think it’s polite…?” 

From behind some unknown wall, Armie hears a faint shout carrying over the house saying “No, Armie! It’s fine! Stay for dinner, yes?” 

It’s Marc, Timmy’s dad, and Armie is just… speechless. 

“Yes?” Marc prompts, still shouting. 

Armie looks at Timmy, fully leaving the decision to him. 

“Tell your driver to go ahead without you?” Timmy requests sheepishly. 

It’s hard to stop himself from reacting when the butterflies literally burst in his stomach. Armie feels his face split in a smile, his face heating up just as the warmth replaces the uncomfortable clench in his chest. He nods at Timmy and sends the text, returning his gaze every other second, then shouts back his reply to Marc. 

“Yeah, okay! Sorry I didn’t get to pick something up before coming here!” 

“It’s alright!” 

Timmy moves to his side, laughing silently and shaking his head in disbelief. “Leave us alone!” He shouts, then tugs Armie by his wrist to go upstairs to his room. 

It shouldn’t be causing his heart to stutter and burst in his chest, but Armie thinks that decision is no longer up to him. The walk up doesn’t fully sink in to him as he remains focused on Timmy, the flush creeping up from his neck, the movement of his hair. 

“Are you sure we’ll get to talk? I think the last time you dragged me to your room hadn’t been very productive.” Armie quips as Timmy takes him to the first door to the right on the hallway. 

“Hopefully, we’ve learned from it.” Timmy replies, releasing his grip and frantically trying to pick the mess up and hang them all on the back of a chair. “Sorry about the mess, I really wasn’t expecting a visitor from the west coast.” 

Armie cackles a little at that, then slowly becomes aware of the tension - not the good kind - creeping up on them. “Hey, stop moving. I thought you wanted to talk?” 

Timmy does stop, but there’s abruptness to it that gives away his agitation. He whips around, then anxiously rubs his palms together before shoving them in his hoodie. “Right, go talk.” 

“I - uh, well - I said my piece?” 

“Wait, that’s right.” 

“I thought it’ll be your turn now.” 

“What?! No - wait, Jesus-” 

This is a little concerning at this point already. Armie feels like he’s going to go back to doubting this entire stunt - which is questionable already to begin with - and turn around to call his driver and hide in The Alps until the next decade. 

“Can we just, like, take a step back?” Timmy says, his hands shooting out in front of him as he makes vague gestures in the air. “What do you want out of this? I mean, obviously you managed to hop on a plane and travel for hours without thinking this through, but just give me some bare details.” 

That sounds fair. “I think, I want to see if there’s something here for you, too.” Armie admits for the first time, both to himself and out loud to Timmy. “Because if that’s the case then I really want to - I don’t know - try, maybe. Take it a little further from friends with benefits and as something a little more serious.”

“This is understandably a little hard for me to comprehend, you see. I pretty much conditioned myself to thinking that there’s nothing for me in our arrangement, but suddenly you’re here on my doorstep after - what? - weeks of absolutely  _ nothing.  _ So, like bear with me if I need to backtrack a little bit.” Timmy runs a hand through his hair and begins pacing his room. “You didn’t text once, or anything-” 

“I thought it’s what you want!” Armie argues, feeling wronged when in reality he’s had so many moments when he just stopped and typed in a message and decided against it. “I can’t tell you enough how many things are in my drafts - no, I can show you-” 

Timmy rolls his eyes and turns away, but Armie grabs him to keep him in place as he scrolls through his phone, looking for the random drafts that he wrote at different occasions but didn’t have the courage to send. Timmy stares at it, then back up to him. 

“I’ll take that. I didn’t send a single thing and that’s on me, and it probably means nothing to you at this point, but if that’s the case can you just tell me so I can leave you alone, because for what it’s worth I’m actually sorry for popping up just like this.” Armie is panting by then end of it, the butterflies in his stomach now replaced by an expanding hollow that makes the bile rise to his mouth as he waits. “Do you not want to?” 

Timmy swallows audibly, looking down to the floor. “Do you actually like me, or this is just a phase?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Is this actually what you want or you’re still just curious? Are you experimenting?” 

The only thing that’s stopping Armie from going off because of that accusation is Timmy’s blatant vulnerability. He’s not asking these to invalidate Armie and his apparent sexual awakening. He’s asking because if he leaps, it’s a freefall, and it’s totally a risk that he should calculate carefully when all this time Armie has never really presented himself to be worth the hassle. There’s been a recurring offense in the two years that they’ve known each other wherein Timmy would - intentionally or not - make Armie feel inadequate. This one stings different. 

Sighing, Armie gathers himself and opens his eyes slowly once he feels a little more collected, smiling tentatively at Timmy who’s watching him with caution. Armie takes a step forward, his hand reaching out. When he’s not met with protest, he moves to cup Timmy’s face, his other hand snaking around his waist to pull them flush chest to chest. Timmy’s head lays limp on his palm as he closes his eyes, and it’s a tenderness that’s new but familiar at the same time, and when he inhales deeply and releases it slowly, Armie realizes it's Timmy from his dream. 

“I dreamt of you,” Armie admits, deciding to leap first since he no longer has anything to lose at this point.

“Like, the sleep paralysis demon type?” 

“Dude, we’re having a moment. Read the room.” 

“Right, go on.” 

“You’re a little emotionally constipated, aren’t you?” 

“My bowel movement is perfect, thank you.” 

“Don’t I know it,” 

Timmy huffs, but he’s smiling when he shoves Armie. “Can you just go back to praising me?” 

Armie chuckles, catching his wrists and pulling him to his chest. “I really miss you,” he says quietly, burying his nose in his hair. “And you definitely do an entire Broadway number on my very last nerve but you’re also the one who keeps me on my toes and it’s just stupid to ignore the fact that not having you in my life wrecks me pretty fucking hard.”

“Wow,” Timmy blinks, offensively surprised by his honesty. Armie pinches his flank and he folds, face landing on his shoulder and staying there. “I thought you’d be a runner.” 

“Like from my emotions?” Armie asks as he strokes his back soothingly, grateful to have him in his embrace but wary of their fragile footing. 

“Yeah,” Timmy confirms, hooking his chin on his shoulder and loosely wrapping his arms around his waist. “You act like you didn’t have an emotional epiphany since your first grade school crush.” 

“That is so weirdly specific.” 

“It’s what I say about all runners.” 

Well, if that’s the case… “I can’t change your mind just by telling you I’m not,” Armie begins, breaking their hug so he can clutch Timmy by his shoulders and hold his gaze. “But look at you, at  _ us. _ If I run, you won’t bother with me at all, and I know it. All this time, you’d been waiting to walk away, and when you did I tried to go on like I’m fine with it until I literally can’t anymore.” 

Timmy looks much better now compared for the most part of their talk in their room. “So you want to be with me? Is that it? I mean, you’re asking? Am I reading the signs right?” He waits until Armie gives a nod, then steps away from him to return to pacing all around again. “I’d demand exclusivity, Armie, and I know you’ve been hounded by booty calls throughout our time together.” 

“Timmy, you’re a fucking handful. Why would I want to have other people?” Armie quips, making Timmy snort and throw him a mocking glare. “And you’ve been getting it. Exclusivity. You still have it. There hasn’t been anyone and I never even considered it.” 

Timmy sits down on his bed, turning his head towards the window where he dragged Pauline by the hair so they can look down to see him on the sidewalk. 

“Do you need more time? Space? Fuck, I really should’ve considered that - oh  _ God, _ is there someone..?” 

When Timmy moves his head to fix him with a solemn stare, Armie’s mouth clicks shut. “No, there isn’t anyone, shut your cakehole.” 

“Fine, fine. You’re so rude.” 

“Hush and let me put my thoughts together.” 

Armie throws his hands up in surrender and gestures him to go on. 

“I do want to try,” Timmy says, choosing his words carefully. “It’s - I’m not,” he clears his throat and tries again. “I’m not where you are - I mean the certainty - because I told myself for the past weeks to forget it. It’s fun while it lasted and now it’s done, and you didn’t make it very hard when I didn’t hear from you at all, but I get what you mean, because you’re a good lay in general, but you’re also unbelievably attentive and thoughtful. It’s ridiculous, and if I could get to have a chance with that, then I do want to.” 

Armie has no idea that it’s as though there are boulders blocking his airway until it clears out and he’s letting out a long, shaky breath. The relief starts in his gut and spreads painfully slowly across his body that he tingles with it. It also makes his limbs feel a little limp, so he puts a hand on the back of the chair where Timmy drapes everything on to steady himself. 

“Come here,” Timmy opens his arms to him, inviting. He’s laughing lightly as well, amused and charmed by the reaction as he takes Armie in his embrace. “You alright?” 

“Am I alright? Jesus, my knees almost gave out.” 

“What? Really? I should’ve let you fall on your knees. It’s always interesting when that happens.” 

“Don’t objectify me.” 

Timmy snorts but doesn’t stop petting his hair. “Our relationship is built on objectification and bullying.”   
  


“There’s a relationship now?” Armie asks, not daring to take his face out of the crook of his neck but not hiding the fact that he’s smiling either. 

“Yes, or did I read the room wrong again?” 

“No, you read it right. No deadline this time, I hope.” 

“Maybe until the environment recovers from the jet fuel you burned to get here.” 

Confused, and maybe a tad concerned too, Armie pushes off to look at him. “How long is that?” 

“A while,” Timmy assures him, cradling his face and leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. “I think this is my favorite: you stroking my ego.” 

“Meanwhile, you do nothing but burst mine.” 

“I put the S in sadomasochism.” 

“You don’t even have S-”

“Chill, Mr. Spelling Bee, let me have my moment.”

Armie chuckles, somewhat in absolute disbelief while his heart trips over itself and his stomach keeps doing cartwheels. He takes Timmy’s face in his hand and tilts his face up, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. Of all the things they’ve done together and to each other, it’s that small gesture that made the color rise to Timmy’s cheeks. 

“Oh, so suddenly you’re blushing virgin over here,” 

Timmy slaps his hand away and pushes at him, mildly annoyed but smiling anyway. He holds Armie by the shoulders and climbs his lap, then takes his face and slams their mouths together, kissing him in ways Armie will only ever associate with him. It’s a huge relief to be on the receiving end of it after trying and failing to convince himself that he can’t. Armie sighs deeply when they part, foreheads pressed together, then Timmy pulls him down to lie on the bed and puts his head on his chest. 

“You know, if you travel you have to get tested and put yourself in quarantine for two weeks.” Timmy says as he lays his palm flat over his heart. “I just finished mine.” 

Armie has no clue if he’s being kicked out or not, so he just settles with waiting. 

Timmy laughs, flicking his nose and craning his neck up to kiss him gently. “We could quarantine together, I don’t mind.”

“Voluntarily, this time?” 

“Yup,” 

“Good,” Armie nods, inhaling deeply again and aware that Timmy can feel how hard his heart is pounding in his chest. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

“Oh, I can tell.” Timmy replies smartly, pressing his ear over his heartbeat and wiggling his brows.

Armie lets him. He always allows Timmy to whatever he wants, anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There goes! Thank you all for sticking with this one. I probably won't be writing for a while because of university, but who knows? I still have a couple that I want to write, so maybe I'll just pop up now and then. Also, thank you so much for the wonderful comments. You guys are so sweet.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short clipping that I can't let go of.

Even though it took the United States until the last quarter of 2020 to get its act together, eventually it still pulled through. Vaccine is still on the works, but things aren’t so out of control anymore. There’s a semblance of normal to it, except the social distancing remains, plus wearing masks and having sanitation stops everywhere. Apart from that, people can pretty much hangout again, a lot of businesses have opened back up, and traveling is getting lax. Armie, on the other hand, is pretty fine with staying at home. 

“The ceiling is too high,” 

“No, it’s not. You’re 6’5” and this isn’t the energy I expect from you.” 

Armie releases the tape measure and lets it retract in his hand, laughing incredulously. “It’s about four meters. You don’t need it  _ that _ high.” 

Timmy scowls at him, a hand on his hip. “Invest in this, Armie. We need a stripper pole.”

“I agree! I’m just saying we can get those freestanding ones instead.” 

“Not your forcing me to mediocrity.” 

“How did we skip the swings? You don’t even know how to pole dance.” 

“I’ll learn once you get it.” 

“And it  _ has _ to be floor to ceiling for you to learn?” 

“Armie, come on! Do this for my birthday.”

“Your birthday is  _ months _ away.” 

“Thanksgiving, then. I’m about to give you something to be thankful for.” 

Armie slides down to the floor, shaking his head as he laughs. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“Yeah, but we already know that.” Timmy responds, walking towards him and sitting on the space on his side. “I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“I know,” Armie says as he tucks Timmy under his arm, snuggling. “If this doesn’t get you to spend more time in my flat I’m gonna throw a fit.” 

Timmy squirms to make himself comfortable, wrapping his arms around Armie’s torso and leaning against him. “I will, I promise. I need to practice, remember?” 

“Or you could just move in,”

“Our friends don’t even know yet.” 

“Nick will be here in a few,” 

Timmy shrugs, unbothered. “Then he’ll know.” 

Armie looks at Timmy who’s comfortably cuddled on his chest, eyes closed and breathing evenly. It’s been months since they started going out, and it wasn’t smooth at all. Their brand remains; great sex, constant bickering. It’s just exactly as complicated as they expect. Timmy’s family is pretty much perfect and welcoming, so that’s one thing they don’t worry about. Viktor is cool, but they haven’t met. Nor has Timmy met his father, not really thrilled about his mother. Armie gets that part. 

What stings the most was when the complications come from Timmy himself. He spent a lot of the first couple of weeks waiting for Armie to change his mind, which meant he’s in it but also not. It was a constant, recurring argument between them that turned into a massive, blowout fight when Timmy finally addressed it. That was a lot, and they didn’t make up until three days later when Timmy showed up to his flat and practically coerced Armie to forgive him. 

Easing Timmy out of his emotional withdrawal didn’t happen overnight. In fact, it’s still in the works. Another sore spot for them is how he wants to keep their relationship on the down low. Armie really isn’t one to broadcast his relationship to the world once he gets one, but to be specifically told to keep it to himself is throwing him off. It’s uncomfortable, but Armie doesn’t really push it, either. Eventually, he realizes the upside of it. They don’t have to keep up with anyone but each other, which means they grow comfortably into their relationship and build more security in it. 

Yesterday, Nick called him to ask if he can let him crash in his flat for a meet-up with their friends from grad school. There’s a lot to unpack from that phone call, which starts with Armie answering it with Timmy sleeping beside him, grumbling in annoyance. He fully expected it to be an argument, or that Timmy will say that he’ll go back to his place and they’ll see each other around some time. Instead, Armie got told that it’s fine, and maybe it’s time to gradually let more people in. 

“You really think rather loudly,” Timmy looks up at him teasingly. 

Armie smiles bashfully, leaning down to kiss him softly. “Guess you’ll just have to live with it,” 

“I’ll live with it,” he answers easily. “I’ll live with you.” 

“It hasn’t even been ten minutes since you turned me down.” 

“I’m gay. I’m allowed to be indecisive.” 

“That’s not-” 

“Hush, you’re new here.” 

Armie snorts and rolls his eyes. “You’re really going to hold my age of sexual awakening for the rest of my life?” 

“Pretty much, yes,” Timmy turns so he’s kneeling and wraps his arms around Armie’s neck. “You’re a little in love with me, aren’t you?”

“No one should be allowed to be this pushy.” 

“Well, what can I say?” 

Armie doesn’t supply him with anything, waiting for him to come up with his own damn punchline because he started it.

“I’m not mediocre so I will tell you by rapping Doja Cat.” 

Armie bursts out laughing and pushes him off, but then he hears Timmy rapping the lyrics to Pussy Talk and he just can’t deal with this man at all. He reaches across the floor, struggling to make him stop when he’s laughing a lot. “You’re right, you’re right, shut up now.” 

“What?” 

“I am,” 

“You’re what?” 

“A little in love with you.” 

“Oh, shit, I didn’t think I’d be right.” 

Armie sighs, mildly exasperated but too smitten to properly take offense. “Can we just get  _ one _ day of not being a disaster?” 

“Well, you need to go back to the straights for that.” Timmy dares him, smirking. 

“Nope,” 

“No?” 

Armie leans back and motions Timmy to cuddle with him again. “I’m happier where I am.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! Until the next, guys! Thank you again.


End file.
